


Sometimes I Wish For Falling

by naxcissique



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies), Pitch Perfect RPF
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Drama, Fluff, Multi, Romance, Triple Treble - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naxcissique/pseuds/naxcissique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aubrey Posen has it all at the moment - she's kicking ass at law school, Jesse's being the perfect boyfriend, and her best friend Chloe couldn't be happier now that Beca's her girlfriend. So where does all this dissatisfaction come from? Triple Treble, might change to Mature rating in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So when I started this whole Fanfiction thing, I had three insurmountable problems.  
> 1) I can't write multichapters. They're too long and I'm not that good of a writer so I might just turn them into a snoozefest.  
> 2) I can't write a Triple Treble. The characterization of 3 different girls will be so hard. And  
> 3) I can't write smut. I'll end up laughing at the gore.
> 
> And hey, look where we are now! Killing three birds with one stone! Okay, too much enthusiasm. Let's just get on with this thing and hope it won't be a train wreck.

_Borrow Legal Reasoning and Legal Writing from the Library. Update Jesse on dinner plans. Pick up some tea. Check if Chloe and Beca are coming to dinner_ -

And right after typing that - _bam_. There it is again.

You couldn't understand when it really started: that gnawing feeling inside you that makes your chest feel heavy - so heavy you sometimes don't want to get up in the morning. But you are your father's daughter. And so you get up. You run around law school, you eat your calorie-calibrated meals, you do cardio on weekends, you hang around with the Bellas, you listen while Chloe babbles on about how sweet Beca was today.

You walk around carrying this - _whatever it is_ \- that makes you feel like you should have something you shouldn't. And the frustrating part is, you don't even know what it is. All you know is the longer you live with it, the deeper you get dragged under some sort of abyss inside you, trying to consume you underneath your skin.

You heave out a huge sigh and wrap up the reminders on your phone. You finish your cereal and wear the outfit you picked earlier. You expertly put up your hair in a bun, apply makeup, pick up your books. There. Aubrey Posen back to regular programming.

* * *

Maybe it started a year ago, on the ICCA championship night, when Beca ran to the stands and kissed Jesse. You don't realize it's happening until you hear a sob behind you. You turn around to see Chloe wiping a single tear away from her cheek, and you follow her distraught eyes. _Oh_.

A weight settles down in the pit of your stomach. You're suddenly, irrationally, unexplainably angry. With Beca, because you're pretty sure the only term for what she and Chloe have been doing in all those rehearsals is eye-fucking. With Chloe, because how can she be so stupid to fall for such a dense, hopeless person? With... you think for a moment, trying to explain the exact reason why you're so angry, and you come up with some theory that maybe, just maybe, you want Jesse. Because he's a cool guy and he doesn't shrink when he sees you and there's no way you could want Beca, right?

You should have realized back then, how you lived to rationalize.

You gather Chloe in your arms, trying to keep your own frustration from your face. _Keep it classy, Posen. Classy._ Chloe clutches you wordlessly and it's a surprise, how you can hear her heart breaking amidst the raucous cheers. Maybe it's your own. You're not really sure.

* * *

Or maybe it was a few days after that, when Beca and Jesse turn up at your doorstep. (Or yours and Chloe's doorstep, technically.) It had been a rough morning, trying to get Chloe to get out of bed and eat something - or even just do something, aside from digging a hole in her bedroom to sulk in.

(It actually takes all of your willpower not to lie down and mope next to her.)

So you're a little shocked when you open the door and see the cause of your heartbreak waiting there. Beca. You shake your head mentally - you mean, _Jesse_. The three of you stand there a beat too long, and for once in your life, no reprimands are coming to your head.

"We're...um..." Beca starts, then stops, clearing her throat. "Is Chloe in?"

You recover your wits at the image of Chloe slumped in her sheets, eyes red, watching The Notebook for the umpteenth time. "No. You're not seeing her again. Not after what you did – "

Beca holds up a hand and you're surprised at how fast you stop. "Aubrey, I get it. I'm a dick. But...I had to kiss Jesse for me to see that I want Chloe. That's a shitty reason for kissing someone else, but I want her and I'm going to tell her that right now."

Jesse, standing behind Beca, nodded. "It was like kissing my sibling. We looked at each other afterwards and went, 'ugh'."

You sigh and step aside, letting them in. Beca goes straight to Chloe's room, having been there a lot of times before. Jesse bounds to the couch, plops down like he owned it, and looks at you expectantly.

"What?" you snap, and then you try to fix your face into genuine curiosity because it wouldn't do to scare away the guy of your dreams. (Or so you'd like to believe.)

Jesse smiles shyly, and it's different from his usual boyish grin. "I know this sounds weird, but...I came to see you."

* * *

"So...what happened to not dating a Treblemaker?"

You scoff at Chloe's teasing tone. She came out of her room wearing fresh clothes (thank God) and a huge smile on her face, no doubt caused by Beca and Jesse's impromptu visit.

"It's just an invitation to a friendly dinner between two captains. Besides, a lot of things have changed." You keep your voice even.

"Yeah. Bumper's gone," Chloe laughs and you feel your stomach heave. Ugh, the guy had been at Barden for a decade, and he never would have stopped feeling up the Bellas every year if not for John Mayer. "So...Beca and I kissed."

You stare at her from the couch. "You know better than to entice me to puke, right? Because I will, if you continue with that train of thought."

Chloe leaps on the space next to you, leaning on your shoulder. "No, no. It's just - I really like Beca, Bree. I seriously want to see this through. And she tells me she feels the same. You're my best friend and I know you were just protecting me earlier, but we're fine now, okay? So it would be nice if you could...you know...be friends too."

You push her off your shoulder with mock annoyance and rearrange yourself into a prim-and-proper sitting position. "What happened to not enticing me to puke?" But Chloe's face was dead serious, her bright blue eyes earnest, so you try to match her expression. "Beca and I are friends."

"Nope. You listen to each other with polite smiles on your faces, trying not to reach out and wring the other's throat. You're just tolerating each other."

"Did you give Beca this little speech as well?"

"She promises she'll try not to put out her claws when you're around."

You glance at her imploring eyes – damn it, Chloe Beale gets everything she wants with that Disney princess act - and finally give in. "Fine. We'll do this whole friendship thing." And hope not to die in the process, you think grimly.

Chloe squeals and gives you her trademark bone-breaker hug. This friendship thing could be the death of you.

* * *

You're pretty sure it started two months after that, near the end of summer. You were all piled up in your green Prius, Jesse humming at the wheel, and you look at him and wonder. _Is it all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?_

Jesse briefly glances at you and whines jokingly. "Don't stare at me like that, babe. Not while I'm driving."

You pout and play the adoring girlfriend. "Is there a switch to turn off the handsomeness?"

He chuckles, and it turns into a full laugh when he glances up at the rearview mirror. "Hey! We can actually see you, ladies!"

You crane your head and look at the backseat; sure enough, Beca and Chloe are making out. Again. For the hundredth time in this two-hour road trip. Beca's fingers on Chloe's rich red hair, Chloe's hands underneath Beca's hoodie - and you suddenly feel that irrational anger, like it was the ICCA championship night all over again, but this time you're also utterly confused. You have Jesse now and Chloe and Beca have each other and _why the hell are you so damn furious?_

Deep breaths. You want to vomit. On a perfect sunny day, on a lovely trip to the beach with your boyfriend and best friend and frenemy. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" Jesse's kind of slowing down the car, looking at you and cradling your cheek. "You could use some water."

He's really so sweet, he's obviously so worried, and you idly wonder why you aren't as in tune with him as he is with you. "I'm good. Just a little dizzy." _With the fact that lesbians are kissing in my backseat and I'm pretty sure I'm not homophobic but it makes me so mad_ , you follow up dryly, though of course you don't tell him that.

He stops on the side of the road just so he can go to the trunk of the car where he kept the cooler. Beca and Chloe finally realize the car isn't moving, and Chloe lets out an appreciative _aww_ when Jesse returns with three ice-cold bottles. "You're making Aubrey thirsty, you two," he kids the couple in the backseat, tossing two bottles at them and opening the third one for you.

"Whipped as a puppy," Beca says in an undertone.

"Yep, just like you," Chloe giggles, snuggling up to the brunette's arm. You shoot them a glare that silences them, then take a sip of water and nod at Jesse's expectant face. "I'm good. Thanks."

He starts the car and within a few seconds you're looking at passing scenery. Jesse then takes one of your hands, kisses it, and puts it on his lap. You smile at him for the gesture and he beams right back. You love this guy. How could you not?

* * *

You were not this person before. Sure, your life may not be as charming and peachy and princess-y as Chloe's, but Major James Alastair Posen at least made sure you grew up perfect.

You were told to have the highest grade in class, from grade school to college (or pack your bags). You were told to study something that would get you employment in the highest echelons of the society. You were told to marry a military man or a doctor or a lawyer. Your father didn't have to be specific, but you're pretty sure he means a guy.

So far it was all good. You lived up to expectations, with only the slight drawback of stress-vomiting. You finished top of the class. You got into Emory and you're going on second year of law school with excellent marks. You're dating Jesse, who, while nowhere near your dad's criteria, is pretty much a guy the last time you checked.

You were not this person who checks out Beca's legs as the group moves forward to the sand and crashing blue waves. You were not this person who laughs instead of throwing a fit when she not-so-sneakily roots around your bag for the tanning lotion.

"Who the hell wears hoodies to the beach?" you say, half-mocking, half in jest.

"She wants some sort of big reveal for her bikini," Chloe calls out from where she and Jesse were preparing the table.

"Big reveal, my ass," Beca mutters. She unceremoniously yanks off the hoodie, and you were definitely not this person who gasps a little at the perfection underneath - creamy toned abs, full breasts covered with little scraps of black cloth. Then again, it was so Beca to get a black bikini - and a wolf-whistle from Chloe cuts through the balmy air and you're brought back to earth.

"Hey, you okay?" Beca's snapping her fingers at your face. "You're not gonna puke, are you?"

You lamely shake your head no, and again, you're not this person who never has a biting retort ready. Beca may be the queen of sarcasm, but you're relentless with comebacks because yeah, you're one of those people who just have to have the last word.

Jesse turns up at that moment to save you and you're unsure if you're happy or annoyed with the interruption. But you let him tug you away from Beca, and when the two of you walk away, you can still feel Beca's slate blue eyes on you.

You're not this person who looks on a moment too long while Chloe and Beca are frolicking in the water. You tell yourself it's just you playing mother hen to Chloe, because the redhead has let far too many unsavory people in her life for your liking. You've nursed her through a lot of one-night stands and short-lived romances. And she might swear Beca's different, but you really can't say – after all, this is the girl you wanted to incinerate the moment you laid eyes on her, with her stupid smirk and ear monstrosities and the knowing gleam in her eye.

Okay, you begrudgingly admit she has her good qualities too - she helped the Bellas win, she's talented, she's actually a softie around Chloe (and gradually around you and Jesse too, because you now see her more often that you would have wanted), she's driven, she's really hot in that damn bikini and you just want to stare and stare and see what's –

\- _Wait, what?_

Backtrack.

You're watching them because you worry about Chloe. Your best friend. Whose girlfriend you hardly care about. You may be a bitch, but not the type that steals other peoples' girlfriends.

_But it would be so easy, right?_

Oh my god, Posen, seriously?

* * *

Beca's suddenly shouting "Sick!" in the couch where she was watching TV (surprisingly) and you can't help but look up from your laptop. You decide if it's worth it to berate her for yelling when you glance at the TV screen and see what she's so excited about.

Chloe comes out of the kitchen, attracted by the noise. Beca is standing wide-eyed like some fucking _kid_ , actually bouncing up and down with excitement. "Babe! It's the new trailer for Grand Theft Auto 5!"

Already Chloe's wrinkling her nose at the chaos onscreen. She actually winces at the sight of the rifleman doing head shots and clears her throat. "I don't...is that a movie?"

Beca looks at her like she's been living under a rock. "It's the greatest open-world action game ever!" She turns back to the TV. "Wait, that guy looks an awful lot like the character from GTA San Andreas. Chris? Charles?"

You surprise even yourself when you blurt out, "Carl. Carl Johnson."

This time Beca's head swivels to look at you so fast you almost heard it crick. Chloe's jaw drops. "Bree, you mean you play that...that abomination?"

You shrug. "Ask me about Counter Strike."

Beca's still staring at you, but she's walking over to Chloe, wrapping an arm around the redhead's waist. "I'm gonna line up at the video store when it comes out. It's gonna be awe-soooome – "

"You are not going to buy that," Chloe says, not bothering to hide her horror. "It'll make you violent!"

"Psh, you sound like my mother," Beca grumbles.

"I mean it! Studies show that people who play video games like those – "

"What study? That's, like, shit _Bowling for Columbine_ disproved way back in 2000."

"You are not going to get that game, Rebeca Elise Mitchell," Chloe says dangerously, drawing herself to full height, her hands on her hips.

Beca rolls her eyes and gives out a loud huff. "'Kay," she mutters sullenly.

Once Chloe's out of earshot, though, Beca rounds on your spot at the coffee table, taking the pouf chair opposite you. "So...Aubrey Posen, gamer extraordinaire?"

You snort. "No. I just like the noisy first-person-shooter ones."

"Why?" You weren't expecting the questioning at all - it's even a surprise that Beca Mitchell hasn't said one sarcastic word to you in thirty seconds - but you keep your eyes on your laptop and decide to humor her.

"My father is a really angry guy," you say. "And even when I'm in my room and he's downstairs, sometimes full-volume Ace on Base on headphones isn't enough to shut out his voice, so..."

"It drowns out the yelling better," Beca says. She clears her throat and clarifies. "The gunshots drown out the yelling better."

You nod, still focused on your laptop screen. On the corner of your eye she's fidgeting and you relish this moment when Beca's really awkward, actually trying to think of something sensible to say _for once_. She asks, "Have you tried going on six wanted stars in GTA 4?"

"Oh please. I bet you haven't even lasted five minutes."

"Well, how long have you lasted?" Real-life Beca's back, the constant challenge once again present in her voice.

"Twenty. I got bored and Molotov'ed myself." No need to mention your character spent that time cooped up inside a tank.

Beca punches your arm with a grin, and it's the first time she touches you of her own accord. You gasp, more out of shock than actual outrage. "Keep your hobbit hands to yourself!"

"So we're getting GTA 5, right?" Beca's bouncing on her seat, and there's no indication in her face that she's amazed you're not strangling each other yet. "I'll hide my console in your room and we'll play when Chloe's asleep...okaaay, that came out wrong."

"Ew! You just indecently propositioned me behind my best friend's back!" You stare at her, trying to re-channel your inner bitch, and then you're taken aback by how... _congenially_ her blue eyes were looking back at you. She sticks out her tongue and you think maybe you could actually do this whole friendship thing.

That is, if you can resist the alarms going off in your head.


	2. Chapter 2

So here you all are a year after all those, and you have pretty much a set routine now, some sort of fantabulous reality TV show the four of you are living. The four of you now almost-living under the same roof. (Well, technically not Jesse and Beca, because you and Chloe both agreed it's too early to ask them to move in.) It's sort of chaotic because if Chloe was a bit clumsy and forgetful with her stuff, Jesse was a slob. And that was an understatement. You don't respond well to disorder and these are the only times you and Jesse ever argue, because otherwise, you have no problem with him watching movies until the wee hours, and he has no problem with you being suddenly closed off sometimes. Also, you see how hard Jesse is trying to clean up after himself, little things such as washing the glass he used and keeping the toilet seat down. He actually does it better once you've worked out some sort of reward system and kiss him every time he does something right.

 _Men._ They're too easy.

While the apartment is a spacious two-bedroom, you and Chloe never thought when you signed the lease that within the same month, you'd both be in relationships. That meant crowds in bathrooms, a dining table too small for four, and a tiny couch when the four of you are watching TV. It's really too damn tiny that you usually shoo Jesse away to one of the pouf chairs. Chloe would sit in the middle, because while you and Beca are gradually getting along swimmingly, the two of you are still prone to barking matches.

Sometimes Chloe's excitement would get the better of her for no reason, and she'd randomly reach over and hug both of you towards her, bumping your heads together. Jesse would grin from his seat and say, "Wow, I am glad I don't fit in that couch."

Not everything is nasty, though. All of you being aca-people, there's always a lot of music going on. Impromptu dance parties and concerts in the living room. Singing in the car (because while you and Jesse both have your own, it's impractical driving separately and so you all often end up carpooling). Speakers are always playing on some room of the apartment. You wonder how you're able to keep your grades up despite the noise.

This morning starts with one of those impromptu concerts, when you slipped out of bed to get coffee. It's a weekend, and though Jesse is still passed out naked in your bed, you're very much a morning person who wakes up at six in the morning out of force of habit. You walk quietly to the kitchen with as much grace as you can muster in a robe and moccasins, and then you hear singing.

> _Sometimes I wish for falling_
> 
> _Wish for the release_
> 
> _Wish for falling through the air to give me some relief_

Beca's back is turned to you, and from the looks of it, she's wrestling with a pancake in the stove. Unknowingly you open your mouth and harmonize the next lines:

> _Because falling's not the problem,_
> 
> _When I'm falling I'm at peace_
> 
> _It's only when I hit the ground it causes all the grief._

She turns around with a slight jolt and relaxes upon seeing you, allowing herself a slight smile. You shrug and walk over to the coffee maker, not really expecting her to say anything, so it was your turn to jump when she speaks.

"Florence and the Machine? You are getting more and more interesting, Posen."

"Sneaking around the kitchen this early? You are getting more and more creepy, Mitchell."

Beca laughs and you try your best not to say the rest of what's on your mind: _I like seeing you in my kitchen. I like that you cook. It's a surprise how those small, dainty hands handle everything with ease._ Fuck, where is all this thought vomit coming from?

"You wanna help me out? I mean, since we've already shared an intimate moment together." Beca shakes her head. "Balls, where did that inappropriate comment come from? Jeez."

"Freudian slip," you joke, and now you know what they mean by jokes being half-meant. "And aca-scuse me, but singing a duet with you doesn't mean you warmed the cockles of my heart enough to label it 'intimate'. The only person you'll fool with that cliche is Chloe."

"Aubrey Posen, always good with words." Beca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Come on. You know Jesse will love it. Chloe will," and the smile that spreads on her face when she mentions your best friend cracks your heart a little.

Of course she doesn't think twice about asking for your help. The two of you are the only ones who know how to cook in the house, and you've spent a lot of times working together in the kitchen, slaving away on countless dinners while Chloe's on the way home from Emory med school and Jesse's on the couch watching some movie.

Of course she has no idea this is bothering you. Of course she cares so much about Chloe, and damn it if you ever let slip that it's bugging you.

So you get up and take out some more flour from the shelf, and Beca hums some more Florence and the Machine. You relish the domestic feel to it all – passing her more batter, helping her with the new juicer (because Chloe doesn't drink coffee in the morning), teaching her how to make the bacon really crisp without burning it, just the way Chloe likes them. And then you frown with the realization that you wouldn't have enjoyed yourself as much if it was Jesse standing next to you instead.

So no one can blame you for being a little absentminded when Jesse takes you in his arms and kisses you hotly upon seeing your breakfast delivery. By Chloe's squeal in the next room and the clatter of silverware falling to the floor, you assume Beca's receiving the same treatment. You close your eyes and kiss back mechanically. Then Jesse's hands are sliding expertly to your breasts, and you absentmindedly wonder if Beca's hands on the same spot would feel just as good.

* * *

It's the last month of school and you're on the study table in the living room, cramming for finals. _Roe v. Wade paved the way for abortion in all 50 states. Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission is something about First Amendment_...god. You pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a groan you wouldn't be caught dead making in daylight. Because Aubrey Posen never complains about work. You just charge ahead determinedly and get it done way more better than other people.

This is your life. Case digests, constitutions, legal textbooks. The only thing attaching you to this is how it'll allow you to wield more power in the future. _Wow, how dictatorial._ You let out another groan.

Hands suddenly knead on your shoulders, firm and assuring and comfortable, and you lean back. There's no need to turn around; you'd know that lavender scent anywhere. "God, that feels good."

Chloe continues the massage for a long while, and then settles gracefully into the pouf chair next to you. You almost envy her for it, the way she naturally moves around in a languid, polished manner - something you can't accomplish without conscious, constant instructions to yourself. _Raise your chin. Straighten your back. Always cross your legs._

Chloe's voice breaks you out of your reverie. "Remember that time when we were sophomores?"

"We were sophomores for a whole year, Chlo. Not sure what time I should be remembering," and your voice cracks a little from exhaustion. Chloe just laughs.

"We were studying for the final exams of the year, just like this. When I said...something about howIcanmakeyoufallinlovewithmeifyouwouldjustallowme."

You manage to catch everything despite the speed with which she delivered them, and chuckle at her mortified expression. "Why bring it up when you know it'll bring you that much embarrassment?" You point to Chloe's reddening face.

"Because I just want you to know the offer still stands." If anything, Chloe's face grows even redder. "I mean, I know there's Jesse and I have Beca, but seeing you like this...I guess I'll never stop being just a tiny bit in love with you, Bree. Especially in these moments."

"Don't let Beca hear you saying that, she'll have a coronary."

"Oh, it's nothing Beca would get jealous about," she waves her hand around airily. "She knows about that...that time."

That time a few years ago when Chloe was not-so-secretly in love with you and you weren't sure if you wanted her too, or if it was just the thrill of having someone who genuinely cared. That was second year in Barden, and you have just adjusted to not having someone yell at you the moment you set foot on the doorway. Instead it's warm hugs and exuberant kisses at your cheek from a certain ginger. All of it made you happy in ways you never deemed possible.

But after Chloe's little declaration, you firmly told her you're not sure if you feel the same way, and the last thing you want is to lead her on. It was in true Aubrey Posen fashion, not acting on anything based on vague evidence. Your life back then (and even now) consisted of calculations and plans, and if your feelings figured anywhere in them, well...they shouldn't. They should be taken out of the equation.

Chloe, of course, understood. Or tried her best to.

The moment Chloe was talking about, you remember it so clearly. And until now, you realize, you're not sure if you feel the same way. But you're older and wiser and now you know spur-of-the-moment decisions won't kill you (because how else would you explain you and Jesse?). So you simply answer the first thing that comes to your head.

"I think back then I wanted you too," you start. "And you're right, because I'll never stop being a tiny bit in love with you either. Not in that way that I'd leave Jesse and ask you to elope, but...you know. You'll always be that little possibility I'd be scared to explore. Our friendship is too valuable to risk."

Chloe's nodding, a smile lighting up her features. "You have such a way with words, Bree."

"So I've been told." You recall Beca complimenting you a month ago, and you feel yourself blushing a little.

"Well, like I said, the offer still stands." Chloe rises from her chair to rest an arm around your shoulder. "If things with Jesse don't work out and you're still single after you hit menopause, we're forcibly taking you in. You, me, Beca, we can be spinsters together."

You half-laugh, half-frown at the mental image. What comes out is a choked sound. "Wrinkles everywhere. Very convincing argument."

Chloe leans in so close you almost think she's going to kiss you - until she steers at the last moment, and goes for your ear instead.

"Someday you'll really think about it," she whispers cryptically, before straightening up and walking off to her bedroom.

* * *

If anything, law school finals only get worse. You barely sleep, feverishly running through a hundred cases in your head, and when you're awake, you're trying to force in a hundred more for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

It helps that Chloe and Beca are almost in the same state. For some reason Chloe is really bent on being the top of her med class. Not that she's not already on top of it with minimal effort – Chloe is the one person you'd freely admit is smarter than you occasionally – but she's going the extra five hundred miles, like she's trying to get into Harvard or something. Beca, you are surprised to note, is also making an effort with her studies at Barden. It turns out she's been spending too much time between Bellas practice and her girlfriend and the finals were her last chance of scraping by.

The three of you convene mornings at the dining table, not even saying a word to each other as you hunch over breakfast. (Except you don't hunch – you sit like an English madam, quietly stirring your tea until it gets cold.) You send Jesse away a little more often now because any distraction drives you crazy. (You soften the blow by telling him he'd just give you a lot of trouble, because he always found you most irresistible when you're serious.) You try to avoid Chloe's room because you're a little afraid you'd catch the couple inside it doing things that would send you over the edge. Really, the only people who should be occupying your mind now are law professors and that smug little slut who's second in class. No room for looking away politely (and painfully), for feeding the empty maw inside you, for _jealousies_.

So you're understandably on breaking point one evening, when you come out of your room for a breather and join Beca and Chloe on the couch. Chloe's watching _New Girl_ , too exhausted to even laugh. Beca's half-asleep, eyes fixed on her girlfriend but not really seeing her, in that way people do when they're hungry and tired.

You try to restore order. "Did anyone think of getting food?"

Chloe looks at Beca like she's her new self-appointed guardian. Alt girl shakes her head no.

"Aca-perfect. I want Thai food. Nobody object," you say sharply, seeing Beca start to open her mouth. You dial a number on your phone, bark a few words on it and settle on the couch, pushing away Chloe's legs to make space. "Delivery's in thirty minutes."

The two women look at you like they're seeing you in a brand new light. "You're our hero, Bree," Chloe mumbles, dragging you down with one hand and kissing your cheek. "What would we do without you?"

"Starve," you snap. "Get off, you're ruining my hair."

Chloe lets you go with a grin and you settle down on the couch, back stiff as a rod, trying to engage yourself in New Girl. Out of the corner of your eye, Chloe's reaching for Beca. _Ugh, not again._ You focus all your willpower on understanding the episode. Cece is cancelling her wedding to Shivrang because she wants Schmidt, but Schmidt already has Elizabeth and – _gah, threesomes are a thing now,_ you think before you catch yourself. Improper thoughts. Improper thoughts.

Speaking of improper thoughts, you feel the couch rocking in a way that it shouldn't. Sure enough, you look around and see Chloe squirming on her seat, chuckling breathlessly while Beca surreptitiously nibbles on the exposed part of the redhead's throat. Before you know it, you're seeing red (you're pretty sure it's not just Chloe's hair) and –

"STOP IT!"

Your eyes widen because the words slip from your mouth too fast. Chloe and Beca separate like they've been burned and hang their heads like reprimanded children, looking anywhere but at you.

"Why can't you keep your hands off each other?" _I am so tired of looking away._ "You're always touching in public places and it's even worse when you're here in the living room because _fuck me_ , does that couch have some sort of pheromone I don't know about?" _I want this for us too._ "And you're always making these little noises – these little _gasps_ – and it annoys me to be within a five-mile radius of you two so get. A. Fucking. Room!" _Because seeing you together is just tearing me apart._

Stony silence. Chloe minutely inches away from Beca, leaving a gap between them. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to not even think of vomiting.

Beca, always the boldest of you three, speaks up. "I – I'm sorry, Aubrey. Didn't know you felt that way."

"Please stop swearing," Chloe adds in a small voice, because she knows you only swear when you're really, really angry. "Would you like us to call Jesse?"

You clear your throat, trying to regain your composure. "No. I'm fine." You stand up and walk away as stately as you can. You end up in the kitchen and start dry-heaving on the sink. But you haven't eaten anything all day, so nothing comes out but bitter bile and some choice teardrops you wipe away as soon as they appear. _There is really no room for jealousies._

* * *

Chloe and Beca barely breathe around you the entire week, and while it bothers you to a certain extent, it somehow works as well. You now have perfect reason to hole up in your room until it's time for meals and preparing for class. Otherwise, you ignore all calls and knocks on your door, as well as the churning emptiness that only seemed to get stronger inside you.

Surprisingly the only face you're willing to see is Jesse's. He isn't Beca and he isn't Chloe, and while you feel a different kind of hurt (you refuse to call it guilt) when he's around, you've been together for almost a year that he's become one of your closest confidantes. The next afternoon he turns up while you're in the doorway fumbling with the apartment key, and you drop everything to clasp him against you as tightly as you can. He runs a hand through your hair and kisses your forehead.

"Whoa, I thought you said I'd be a distraction."

"I really, really need a friend right now." You've already had one moment of weakness, so why not just say it out loud?

He listens carefully on your bed while you pace back and forth, trying to give him the most coherent version of what happened the previous week. (While carefully omitting the part that it all stemmed from jealousy.) He stands up, takes your hand, and guides you gently on the bed beside him.

"First of all, it's me," he says gently, holding your face in his hands. He was so close and you could smell his aftershave, mild and minty. "You don't have to defend yourself to me, Bree."

"It was really stupid. I mean, who would be bothered by a little PDA? Nobody. Just me." You close your eyes, sigh, and open them again. "Tell me what to do."

"Hey, I love your old-fashioned values," Jesse jokes, and you try to smile. "No one can tell you what you can and can't want, Aubrey. If you hate PDA, just own it and to hell with them. Besides, you've been studying all month. You were tired and you didn't mean to chew them out. They know that. So just talk to them, let them apologize, say sorry as well. That'll end it."

"You're always so nice," you reply, and you mean it. Sure, you may not be enamored with him, but at least you love him enough as a friend to recognize how decent of a person he is. Suddenly aware of the proximity of your bodies, the throbbing emptiness inside you rapidly makes itself known. You instantly act to make it go away by crashing your lips against Jesse's, running your hands on his chest in such a way that you know will drive him mad.

It works. Jesse leans over you until your back hits the bed. Before his fingers even touch the button of your shirt, though, he asks, "Are you sure? Because I might be interrupting your studying," and he says it not to tease you, but because he really meant it. It gives you a little pang. This guy, constantly trying not to be a nuisance to you.

"I'm taking a break tonight. Fuck me senseless." It's all you need to say to get Jesse all over you, and minimal coaxing to give it to you _hard._ And you're grateful for the next few hours your mind and body blanks out – no Beca, no Chloe with her, no law books, no _nothing_.

* * *

You wake up after a while and Jesse's heavy, familiar body is not lying beside you. It's dark and you debate on whether to get dressed or not when you hear low voices at the door.

"Don't take it personally. She's just whacked from all that studying." Jesse's voice is almost apologetic.

"Does she know we're really, really sorry?" Chloe's voice sounds hoarse, like she'd been crying.

"Yeah. She just needed a few days by herself. It probably doesn't even have anything to do with what you guys did. You just...I dunno, triggered something that pushed her limit." Whoa, Jesse's spot-on familiarity with the Aubrey Posen programming is seriously starting to freak you out.

"You think she'll be okay?" You swear your heart skips a little at that voice, laced with so much concern. Beca's. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Well, for starters, stop treating her like she kicked your puppy," Jesse chuckles quietly.

"I should've known! Bree's always trying to keep things normal. We'll be cool. We're cool and we'll be normal, okay? Got it?" Chloe says to Beca, who gracelessly grunts her response.

"I am  _always_ cool, Chloe. Jeez."

"Right. Give her time, don't make her feel weird, and she'll bring it up herself when she's ready." The door creaks as it swings on its hinges, and Jesse speaks again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lady to keep warm." The door closes with a silent thud, and Jesse's settling behind your back, spooning you in his arms.

You try to quiet the guilt welling up inside you. _God, this boy. He's perfect and I don't want him._


	3. Chapter 3

Next morning happens to be a Saturday and for some reason Jesse's up the moment you are, trailing you to the kitchen. You were just laughing over his story of how Benji almost set his bed on fire when Chloe and Beca appear on the doorway. Chloe stops so abruptly that Beca, bringing up the rear, almost walks into her.

You look up curiously at Chloe. "What?"

"It's the first time I've seen you smile in ages," Chloe says, a little too innocently. She walks up and gives you a kiss to the cheek, then settles on the chair beside you. "Good morning, one and all!"

"Too loud, Chloe," Jesse says, though he has a fond grin on his face.

Beca's setting things on the counter – a glass of orange juice for Chloe, coffee for herself and Jesse. "And what would _Der Fuhrer_ have?" It's a moment before you realize she's staring at you with her trademark smirk.

"Didn't know I have a minion at my disposal, but tea would be fine." You give her a tentative smile to soften the insult, and then suddenly, Chloe and the two of you are speaking at the same time.

"We're very –"

"Aubrey, I –"

"I've been really –"

You realize what the three of you are doing and all of you stop at exactly the same time. Jesse's now looking at each one of you with amusement. You take a deep breath and start. "Sorry."

"Don't," Chloe says. "Our fault."

"Sorry too," Beca adds.

"Save it."

"Still mad?" Chloe asks.

"Nah," you answer, and you mean it. The moment right after your little outburst last week, you knew there was no reason to be angry; after all, Chloe and Beca were doing what all other normal couples do, and it wasn't their problem if you are the only person not okay with it.

"Won't do it again," Beca offers.

"Not in front of you anyway," Chloe giggles a little.

"No, carry on," you disagree. "I was stressed, and snapped."

"PDA's okay?" Beca sounds a little surprised, and you're willing to bet she didn't think you would be this easy to talk to.

"Just don't take off clothes around me," you answer. Part of you is screaming to prohibit Chloe and Beca's displays of affection, but your rational side knows you would just make a dent in your friendship if you ask them to do something that would serve no one but your jealousy.

And you were never a person to risk friendship over your own stupid feelings.

"Resolved?" Chloe asks, and all of you, with the exception of Jesse, nod. "Group hug!" She leaps off her seat to drag Beca and you into a hug that seemed more like cutting off your circulations with her arms.

"That was a conversation?" Jesse mock-gasps. "If I didn't know any better I'd say that was three dudes talking."

Beca chucks a teabag at him in response and you think, _this is okay_. Maybe you could all live like this forever. Not forever, of course, but until you decide to break up with Jesse or Beca proposes to Chloe or...you don't even want to think about it.

* * *

A Posen's life is never okay. Or so your mother had you believe. The woman was just as bad as your father – a former actress prone to bouts of depression, she hated children and did nothing but go out with other glamorous society women, only to come back drunk and bitter.

You were told this around six years ago, when you announced you're going to college in a state a thousand miles away. Your father flew into a rage right then and there at the breakfast table, and your other siblings cowered visibly. You try to hold yourself steady and say everything's arranged – you have a scholarship, you're going to live on campus premises, everything's going to be okay. And your insane mother, already busy polishing off bourbon at seven a.m., comes right out and says it: _A Posen's life is never okay, sweetie._

You're dead set on believing the stupid bitch after today.

It's the last week of classes at Emory and you don't even bother to come in. (Apparently it pays to be overeager, as you completed your final requirements a few weeks before while your classmates are scrambling to do so just now.) You were lying in bed with Jesse, watching some romantic movie on his laptop, but you could tell he wasn't interested – judging by the way he was looking at a spot at the corner of the screen without reacting to what was going on with the plot.

He suddenly turns to you, staring long enough for you to feel self-conscious. "Jesse?"

"We've been together for a year," he says. You nod warily, unsure where this is going.

"I love you," he continues, and there's suddenly a huge lump in your throat. _Don't do this today. Not ever._ It kills you when things come out of left field. You're unprepared right now with no plans and scripts to guide you. Because today of all days, you just know Jesse Swanson and you are about to break up. And all the breakup scenarios you had in your head before were radically different from what's happening at the moment.

There's a long moment where you try to open your mouth and tell him you love him back or something. _Anything._ The moment stretches out to a minute and the expression on his face changes from openly sincere to brooding.

"You still don't love me back."

 _Still?_ You lean back on the pillows, waiting for him to explain himself.

"I'm guilty of trying to make you fall in love with me. It was obvious from the start that you didn't want me back, but I was selfish and hounded you in the hopes that you'd change your mind." He chuckles darkly. "That never worked, even in movies."

"No," you finally say. "It was my call. I should have stopped you earlier before you went in too deep. And I am a self-centered bitch who kept stringing you along instead. The worst is, I only thought of doing something about it now, when it's clear to me that you deserve someone better."

He takes your face in his hands and inches closer.

"My girl, Aubrey," he says, trying to smile. "When I tell my grandchildren about 'the one that got away', I'd describe her as 'that tea-drinking, balls-cutting blonde lawyer who is really good with words.'"

"Aca-fucking hell," you mutter, slapping his arm mildly. "You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you over for a year and you're still sweet about it? See, this is what I'm saying about you deserving better!"

"You said it yourself," Jesse grins and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear. "You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you for over a year –"

"Hey, I said 'who fucked you over for a year'. You interchanged 'over' and 'for' so you're changing the meaning –"

"Seriously, Bree, I'm trying to break up with you here." Jesse smirks and you wonder where he's even getting the jokes and restraint. If you were him you'd have probably screamed yourself hoarse and clawed out the face of the other person. "Again. You said it yourself. You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you for over a year and you're still sweet about it – now why wouldn't I be? Guys would kill for a year's worth of fucks, lady!"

This was the last straw. Something wells up inside of you and before you know it, you're sobbing unstoppably, burying your face on the crook of Jesse's neck. He automatically holds you closer. The tears come too fast and in such huge volumes that you actually wonder if vomiting is better, because Jesse's shirt is soaked in a couple of minutes.

"What isn't real must be a lie. Yes or no?" you ask, not moving from his embrace. Your voice comes out with a slight rasp.

"Yes," Jesse answers quietly, removing your scrunchie, unraveling your hair and stroking it to calm you down.

"Rom-com movies are real events. Yes or no?" You fight back a sob, and repeat. "Yes or no?"

"No."

"Then pretend that the next five hours is a rom-com movie." You look at the clock; it's four in the afternoon. You take a deep breath and give him something he should've had a long time ago but you never had to give. "I love you."

"I love you too. Breakup sex?" he asks playfully, and you pinch him in the tummy through his shirt. "Hey! I'm just trying to use up my year's quota of screws."

"Do what you want. It's your rom-com," you say, straddling him and taking off your blouse in one fluid motion. You wipe your eyes with it and allow Jesse to have his way with you. After a year of fooling around with his feelings, it's probably the least you can do.

* * *

It's ten in the evening and you're sitting in the couch, dazed. The house was dim and empty – Jesse had left with the promise that you'll be good friends after moving on – and the only source of light is the television you turned on but muted. You're deciding whether to curl up into a ball or go out and get drunk when the door opens.

Judging by the heavy footfalls and clanking of those stupid little chains in her leather jacket, it's Beca. "Aubrey? Fuck, why's it so dark?"

"Where's Chloe?" Your voice is grating from having cried for two straight hours. "Don't...don't open the lights." Your hand gropes for the night light on the study table, and the living room is soon dimly lit in orange.

"Emory medical mission in Brookhaven, remember?" she answers, throwing her boots off and joining you on the couch. You groan because you did forget – Chloe was coming back tomorrow morning. "You want me to call her?"

"Don't. I texted her after Jesse left but she hasn't replied. She's probably busy." You look at the grocery bag Beca set on the table. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be comforting Jesse?"

"Jeez, Aubrey," Beca rolls her eyes. "Jesse's out drinking with the Trebles. We'll talk in the morning. Did it occur to you that I'm here to hold you through the night?"

You couldn't see her expression in the weak glow of the TV but you're pretty sure she's being sarcastic. Through your sadness, though, your insides still couldn't help but do a somersault at the thought of Beca holding you. "Fine. Whatever. " You remain slumped on the couch, eyes closed.

Beca's moving around, and you hear the rustling of the grocery bag. "I brought ice cream. Chloe mentioned in passing that this is your favorite, I hope it still is." You open your eyes and glance at the coffee table, expecting a tub of butter pecan. It was. "Some merlot, if I remember your drink correctly...cheap kind, though. I didn't have much money on me when I went out."

You're fighting the urge to swoon, but you settle for reaching out and ruffling Beca's hair. She dances away. "You're spot-on so far, Bilbo."

"Fuck off my hair, aca-bitch." Beca smooths her locks, trying to recover from your disrespect of her badassery. "I was about to add that we can order pizza, but you're acting up –"

"Pizza's good," you cut in. "And then you're staying in this couch to watch mind-fuck movies with me, because unlike Chloe and the rest of the lousy female populace, _The Notebook_ is not my just-dumped go-to movie."

Beca groans, but she gets up to order the pizza and even fetches you a blanket afterwards.

* * *

 _Inception_ is on its last ten minutes. You and Beca had emptied the wine bottle and the couple of pizza boxes, but not one has spoken after the arrival of pizza. The two of you are now drinking beers and your head's starting to get heavy.

Beca clears her throat. "Shall I get the ice cream, m'lady?" Without waiting for an answer, she gets up to find the ice cream and hands you a spoon. You open the tub and soon the two of you are quietly digging into cold, creamy butter pecan goodness.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Beca asks gently, and you notice how she subtly scoots closer, until her thigh is touching yours.

"No." Your answer is so abrupt she pulls back, trying not to let her surprise show. You immediately see this and so you push forward and tentatively lean your head on her shoulder.

She stiffens for a moment – you're sure you'd practically go to pieces if she shoved you away – and recovers, even guiding your head towards a spot below her collarbone so she can timidly put a protective arm around you. _Thank god._ Chloe apparently taught her some semblance of tenderness.

"He was _so_ kind. Like, what the fuck, dude? He's dumping me and he's being goofy about it though it's obvious his heart is aca-fucking breaking. We even had breakup sex –"

"Uh, Aubrey," Beca tried to interrupt, "too much informa –"

"Shut up," you snarl. Beca's grinning now, probably thinking you're a hilarious drunk, although you're sure you're not doing anything to look like it. "Breakup sex is absolute new shit, Beca. No guy does that anymore. You break up and it's all shouting, threats, tears, slaps, sometimes lawsuits. Every guy has an ego and when you dump them they act like banished fucking Loki. Except Jesse. He's fucking perfect. Well, not in my dad's standards, but still. I was, like, if only we have fucking met earlier!"

"You're using too much cuss," Beca says, grimacing. "I therefore conclude you're drunk."

"Nope," and you vigorously shake your head to prove it. She blurs a little, and you wonder why your vision's suddenly off.

"Wait – what do you mean, if only you and Jesse met earlier?"

You groan inwardly, because Beca's not seeing the _obvious._ "Then I haven't fallen for someone else."

"Whaaaa..." Beca's eyes are round, semi-blue gray orbs in the gloom. You clamp a tight grip on her wrist.

"Do not tell Jesse or I'll cut off your fucking hand."

"Jesus, Aubrey, I'm not some gossip. We're lesbros now."

"I am not a lesbian," you grind out through your teeth.

"Wow, you just said that like we're lepers," Beca laughs. "Are you a homophobe? Wait, how does that even work? You have a bisexual best friend and half the Bellas are probably closet lesbians –"

"I am not a homophobe! Why are you a dick in every conversation we have?"

"Oops, I'm forgetting you were just dumped. I'm supposed to hold your hand through it or something. Sorry." You lift your head from Beca's chest and see her wearing a smirk, although you somehow know she meant the words.

"It's okay," you mumble, scooping some more ice cream, not looking at her. "I know you're just here because Chloe asked you, but thanks anyway."

"Who said Chloe asked me? Dropping by to check on you..." Beca's voice is suddenly lower in volume and you glance at her to hear the next words, "was purely my idea."

You search her face for any sort of indication she was lying. There was none.

* * *

 _Disconcerting._ This is your first thought when you wake up in the darkness.

Then you realize it's not all dark. The lamp on the study table is still open, casting muted orange hues at a corner of the living room. The TV is closed and the _Inception_ DVD is lying on top of the coffee table. Someone had cleaned up because you could swear you left pizza boxes and bottles on top of it and now it's spotless.

You look around and realize you're very comfortable; apparently you're lying on the couch, head on Beca's lap, your blanket snugly wrapped around you. Beca's half-seated, head slumped in a throw pillow on the arm of the couch, sound asleep.

_Wait, when – or how – did that happen?_

You lift your head a little to observe her face; it shows nothing, just the peaceful expression of someone who finally had time to rest. You don't know how long you've been staring until a rustling from the kitchen makes you turn; Chloe emerges from the kitchen in a shirt and cut-off shorts, rubbing her eyes. She spots you and walks closer and you're suddenly worried about how _wrong_ you and Beca must look right now.

"Hey Bree," she whispers so as not to wake Beca, and you breathe a sigh of relief, knowing your fears were groundless. How Chloe was okay with you lying on her girlfriend's lap is totally beyond your understanding, but then again it must have something to do with how touchy-feely she is with people.

Chloe crouches and forces herself to fit beside you on the couch. This was nothing new; Chloe had a habit of cuddling in a way that's she's practically draped over you, not caring if you can't breathe and ruining the last semblance of personal bubble you might have. You've gotten used to it and you don't even flinch when Chloe's breasts push against yours as she wraps her arms around you. The air you're breathing is suddenly thick with the scent of lavender.

"Hey," you murmur back, watching her lay her head on the remaining space of Beca's lap. Beca doesn't seem to notice, just slumbering right on. "What time did you arrive?"

"Just around four a.m." She presses her forehead against yours. "You okay?"

You shake your head no. You're feeling numb right now, worn out from the day's events and all that effort of not crying. But breakups are breakups and while you didn't exactly love Jesse you spent so much time on him, gotten so used to his presence, that you're not sure how losing him would work out for you tomorrow.

Chloe tightens her arms around you – you don't even understand how it's possible given your proximity – and you give a small noise of protest. "Don't. It hurts all over."

Chloe's eyes go wide. "Oh my god, did he hit you?!" she hisses.

"No. Everything went rather well." You see she's not entirely convinced with your answer, as her eyes are raking over you in the darkness, trying to scope your physical condition.

"Then why do you have a hell of a lot of bruises?" She holds up one of your wrists, where purple indentations of Jesse's fingers can still be seen. Her tone is demanding and anxious at the same time. She gently runs her fingers through your collarbone; you inhale sharply because it stings and she's frowning at the teeth marks. "Aubrey..."

"Breakup sex," you murmur in the tiniest voice possible, and Chloe frowns again, not sure if she heard you right. "Breakup sex. That's how well everything went."

Even in the shadows, it's obvious that Chloe's unsure how to take your statement. She's half-smiling and trying to school her face into seriousness at the same time. "Breakup sex? Is there such a thing?"

"Jesse apparently thinks there is. I've always thought make-up sex is the best, but breakup sex trumps that now." You realize what you just said and clamp a hand to your mouth. The alcohol is obviously still working on you. "God, that was inappropriate. Sorry."

"You're perfectly entitled to say whatever you want. You're heartbroken." Chloe gives you a light kiss on the forehead and hugs you. "So...it seems you and Beca are best buddies now. Should I be jealous?"

You feel the blood rush to your head – the first sign of panic – but you look up and Chloe's smiling, for real. "Jeez Bree, you need to relax. Though I will rip your vocal chords out if you ever replace me as your best friend."

"Not gonna happen. And certainly not with this smurf."

Chloe grins. "Everything will be fine. We're going to be three domesticated ladies who happily bake and do housework over the summer while men drool at our windows. Like a musical."

"One: I will not allow myself to be domesticated like some 60's housewife. There is a thing called women empowerment. And two: men drooling at our windows sounds like the beginning of a horrible slasher movie."

The redhead just snuggles closer to you, sighing in your ear. "Go back to sleep. We're not going anywhere."

You don't know how you manage to fall asleep again – the couch, after all, is tiny and nothing compared to your bed – but it's unexpectedly easy, with Chloe and Beca keeping you warm.


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse couldn't have picked a better timing.

It's summer, with no school to use as a distraction. The first week you end up cleaning the entire apartment, even Chloe's room, because yours has always been spotless and there's nothing else to work on. It doesn't help that Beca and Chloe are often hovering around you. It's sweet and annoying at the same time, particularly for Chloe, who has taken to hounding you even if you're just innocently watching TV on the couch.

"Bree?"

Your feet are propped up on Chloe's lap and she's drawing haphazard circles on your knee. It's ticklish yet comforting, and you don't stop her because the action is familiar – she's been doing this ever since you shared a dorm back in freshman year. "What?"

"It's been two weeks since...you know. Don't you want to talk about it?"

"It's not Voldemort. You can call it by its name – the breakup." You heave out a sigh and look at Chloe, who has taken to rubbing the length of your legs with her palm, not looking at you. "I said everything that night. There's nothing to talk about."

"You haven't told me why you two broke up," she replies, in an almost accusatory tone.

You look around for Beca – she's mixing in Chloe's room – and you're suddenly grateful because surprise, she hasn't told Chloe the reason. "It just doesn't feel right."

"Is this about Major James Alastair Posen's standards again? The whole thing about Jesse not being in the army or something?" Chloe's all too familiar with your dating choices from college; she's probably recalling the five or so guys you dumped simply because 'my father will not approve of them anyway'. Not to mention that they didn't stir anything in you – because for a long time, nobody really has. Until the dense and extremely maddening Beca Mitchell came along.

"That's it?" Chloe's suddenly pushing off your feet with a disgusted look on her face, and you realize you haven't answered her at all.

"No!" You thrust your feet back on her lap, hoping she would resume touching you. It's soothing and comforting and you don't want to read too much into the action, but Chloe's hand is just _warm_ and it's calming you down. Chloe seems to get the cue and restarts stroking your legs, albeit hesitantly. "Jesse's great, maybe the best guy I'll ever date. But I don't want him."

It's a slight revelation, how Chloe is not even batting an eyelash at all over this. "For a moment I thought it's your dad. Honestly, he's got his ideal guy worked out even better than most teenage girls. Tall, dark, handsome, military, capable, and big in dick..." she smirks and you give her a small kick, trying not to break out into a grin. "What? Every time you go out on a date before it's all I hear from you."

"You're not surprised about Jesse?" You still haven't completely gotten over at her lackluster reaction.

"No. He's too...tame. You want someone edgier." Chloe's hand slows down and maybe you're imagining it, but her fingers are gradually ghosting over your skin. It's the first time Chloe touched you this way and you close your eyes at the sensation. "Like me. Or Beca."

"W-what?" You inhale deeply, aware that goosebumps are running all over your legs. It's because you're finally sure what Chloe is doing is deliberate; every stroke is meant to be tantalizingly light and it's working you up in ways you can't even understand.

And then her last statement finally sinks in and there's an abrupt change in energy in the air and you don't know how Chloe can be so damn _oblivious_ to it – or maybe she isn't, because she just absently continues caressing a little bit higher up your thigh, enjoying her effect on your system. She looks up to meet your gaze and you can swear there's an unknown, dangerous glint in her eye that you've only seen in brief flashes before.

Chloe hums, almost _growls_ , in this insanely low voice that she probably acquired after her nodes operation and you can't help but gulp audibly. "Not so smart now, Posen, huh?"

"Isn't it a little, uh, too early to invite me to a ménage a trois?" _The best thing to do, really, is just to pull your legs away._ _One tug and it's over_. But Chloe's touch is short-circuiting your brain and – _just like Beca_ – it's infuriating how Chloe seems not to notice at all, even if your body is making all these exasperatingly huge signals your mind can't control.

Chloe shakes her head minutely; she lifts her hand from your legs and you almost beg her to put it back. But she looks at you again and the glint in her eye is replaced by something that vaguely resembles nervousness. _And Chloe Beale is never nervous._ "Oh, _god_. I didn't mean to...is that how it sounded like? I'm – Bree, I'm sorry. You're welcome to...Ugh, I am so stupid!" She gestures down to your feet, agitated. "I went too far. I'm sorry."

You close your eyes and finally do what you should have done earlier – drag your legs away from Chloe's lap with an almost superhuman effort, ignoring the throbbing somewhere _down there_. Chloe's looking positively flustered now, her brilliant blue eyes wide with alarm.

"It's okay," you say mechanically, trying not to give in to your manic urge of grabbing Chloe right then and there. You almost want to hug her, wipe the apprehension off her face because you felt something in her hands too, but you're too scared you'd do more than hugging. You really might end up seizing her instead and slamming her down to the couch and you can just imagine it – biting her ear and kissing her neck and making her pay for activating this foreign hunger and – _shit, that's lesbian activity. The kind that I usually dream of, starring Beca._

And so you mumble some excuse that sounds incoherent even to yourself, take one last look at Chloe's apologetic face, and do your best to get out of there.

* * *

_"Hello?"_

"Stacie!" You never really thought you and the busty brunette were particularly close, but locked up in the safety of your room, away from Chloe's intoxicating presence, Stacie's voice was the most welcome thing right now.

_"Hey Aubrey. Heard about you and Jesse. I'm sorry."_

"It's okay." You give out a huge sigh – it seems you've been doing nothing but sighing lately – and say the words you thought you'd never utter in your life. "About that. I need a distraction."

 _"Straight to the point, as usual."_ Then Stacie fully grasps the meaning of your words – you could almost hear her mind working – and she adds, _"Wait, what?!"_

"You heard me," you deadpan. "Never thought I'd see the day, but I need a wingman or whatever it is right now."

There's a long silence. Then, _"It's not like I don't want to help you, Aubrey, but this doesn't sound like you at all."_

"I'm trying out something new."

 _"Right."_ Some crackling, and you assume Stacie's sighing as well. _"Oh well. I can take you to this party we're required to attend tonight. Meet me at our sorority house at eight if you're so sure."_

"I'll be there." You'd actually be anywhere just to have someone take care of your stupid urges right now. Stacie was probably having a field day at how you finally decided to your own 'Hunter' free. "Thanks for helping me out. And, Stacie?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Don't tell Beca and Chloe."

* * *

Aubrey Posen's Guide to Moving On:

1\. Get drunk.

2\. Take home some guy and let him fuck the lesbian out of you.

3\. Rinse and repeat.

* * *

So this is your life now, one week and five different guys later:

Stacie is your new best friend. She doesn't pry and has recently learned not to flinch with worry when you appear at her sorority house every evening. You're both well aware that what you're doing is not in the Aubrey Posen rulebook, so she eases you into her kind of scene with baby steps. She introduces you to frat boys she knows personally – "So we know who we'll castrate if they try and fuck you up," she assures confidently – and gives you enough space to get to know your guy while making sure you're not getting too wasted to be taken advantage of.

Then you go back to your room with your flavor of the night, because even if you've stooped this low you're still Aubrey Posen and there's no way you're going to do the walk of shame from some guy's dorm. You barely care when you step in the apartment and Beca throws you dirty looks from her laptop, or when Chloe gasps from the couch at whoever male visitor you drag in. You're supposedly heartbroken and you're perfectly entitled to do what you have to just to get by.

Mornings are the worst because your stupid brain wiring still wakes you up at six. And one look at the random guy you shagged lying on your covers is enough to make you run to the bathroom and puke.

You're pretty confident you're not knocked up. It's just your body, trained to revolt against your sleeping around.

By the third day of this you've run out of fucks to give. You nudge your bedmate awake, throw him his pants and shirt, and whisk him out of the apartment without so much as a glance. You spend the rest of the day going about your life normally ( _well, not so normal,_ judging from the way Beca and Chloe keeps glancing at you apprehensively) until it's evening once again and you prepare to go to Stacie's.

The eighth day of your move-on propaganda, you're puking in the bathroom again when a hand rests on the small of your back. You jump a bit, but then recognize Beca on the reflection in the mirror above the sink. She gingerly rubs your back up and down, only stopping when you've rinsed out your mouth and turned around to reach for the towel behind her.

She doesn't move from where she's standing, and you're suddenly aware of how close she is, so close you could smell her perfume that you couldn't really identify but still makes you feel heady anyway. And then you remember that she has a girlfriend, who happens to be your best friend, sleeping in the next room.

"Making your girl breakfast again, Mitchell?" you say while drying your face, in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

Beca shakes her head. "I was asleep and then I heard something out here, so I checked. You kind of left the door open, so I just, you know, walked in."

You hang the towel on the rack and this time she steps back, but only to assess your condition better. "Dude," she exhales. "You look like hell. Can I get you anything?"

You blink because Beca not being sarcastic still takes you by surprise. Granted, she's been totally sweet the night you and Jesse broke up, but this considerate, caring person is someone you still have to get used to. She doesn't wait for your answer; instead she just puts a hand on your back again and steers you towards the couch. She disappears and comes back after some while with a steaming mug, only to find you pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Hey," she says, setting the mug down on the coffee table. "I got you chamomile tea. It's supposed to make you relax or something."

You keep your eyes closed and fall back on the couch. "Thanks. Although I can't really relax until I kick out that guy on my bed."

Beca grins. "That's easily fixed." She walks off to your room and very soon after, the guy in your bed is running out to the hallway in a great hurry, still buttoning his jeans. Beca comes out and smirks at the door slamming shut.

"What did you do?" You're half-worried that Beca might get in trouble, but half-impressed that she managed to do in three minutes what you do in around twenty.

"Told him he just fucked my girlfriend." Your heart audibly beats faster and you hurriedly take a sip of the tea, even while knowing it wouldn't calm you at all. Beca seemed blissfully ignorant of the effect of her words, rubbing her hands together with a self-satisfied grin. "I can make you pancakes too, if you want."

You hold in a smile. "Gee, where's the badass I used to know?"

"My reputation's safe and sound. No one's gonna believe I offered you _anything_ ," Beca snarks. "Hey! It's too early for your bitch autopilot to take over!"

You can't help but laugh and fling one of the throw pillows at her. "Go to sleep. You're missing out on Chloe's cuddling."

For a few moments she looks right at you, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she says, "You too," smirks, and walks away.

* * *

The ninth morning, you emerge from the bathroom after vomiting bitter bile. Everything you've brought up the last few days smells of tequila or vodka and you're wondering how you could make sure you're not at the risk of getting alcohol poisoning. Maybe Chloe would know. You swing the door open and jump at the sight of the aforementioned redhead standing right outside.

"What the hell, Chloe Marie Beale?! Why are you standing there like some murderer?!"

But Chloe just looks at you and pulls you wordlessly to the couch. You kind of have an idea where this is going based on the expression in her face. Sure enough, Beca's standing in the living room, looking expectantly at you and then at an envelope in her hand. Chloe gently nudges you to the couch and clears her throat.

"You guys forgot the Intervention banner," you observe mildly, watching Chloe fidget with a similar-looking envelope she took from her shorts pocket. Beca raises her eyebrows, obviously having no idea what you were referring to. "Seriously, Beca? Ugh, this isn't at all original. It's from _How I Met Your Mother_."

"Glad to see you're sober enough to remember the show," Chloe tries to joke, her blue eyes remaining solemn. "So...um...we're worried about you, Bree."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm fine."

"No," Beca says, her expression mirroring Chloe's. "You're sleeping around."

"I really do appreciate the concern, but may I point out that this is 2013 and that's normal." The words come out of you as an involuntary snap. The couple just glances at each other and you sigh, knowing nothing you say would stop them anyway. "Just read the damn letters."

Chloe neatly opens her envelope, unfolds the paper inside, and begins.

"Bree, you're doing the Fuckathon. The exact same thing I did pre-Beca, when I had those stupid flings out of boredom. Back then you kindly asked me to stop because, in your own words, 'it's self-destructive and never ends well.' Self-destruction isn't your thing, Bree. We know you're trying to cope but this is just going against those values you've always stood for. We don't want to see you regretting a lot of things. You can talk to us. You're our rock, but that doesn't mean you don't need help and hugs once in a while. Love, Chloe."

You keep your face neutral, although Chloe's words had deeply touched you. "Beca?"

Beca rips apart her envelope – almost tearing the paper inside in the process – and reads, her voice quavering slightly from the early hours of the morning.

"Uh, Chloe told me to write you a letter expressing my feelings or stuff like that. I think it's cheesy, but she's withdrawing some privileges if I don't do this, so..." Beca coughs a bit at Chloe's slight smirk and continues. "Aubrey, your behavior is scarier than usual. I'll trade a year of bickering with you than a week of you, uh, fornicating with men you have just met – "

"Fornicating with..." You shake your head with a laugh. "How archaic. It's called a one-night stand, Beca."

Chloe chuckles halfheartedly. "Let her finish." She nods at Beca, who reads on.

"Anyway, we kind of miss the Aubrey who raises hell over a tiny speck of dust and who spends Friday evenings watching telly on the couch like a grandma. So please get your head out of your ass, because we're not quite ready to be godmothers yet." Chloe glares at Beca with a horrified expression, but you just grimace at Beca's audacity and let her drone on. "Besides, from the last time I've been to your room, it sure stinks like a brothel. You're already a bitch, and we don't want to see you becoming a whore too. We out, the awesome Beca Mitchell."

"You actually signed your name like that?" You walk over and tug the letter out of Beca's hands, chuckling upon seeing the words on paper. Chloe looked mortified. "Sorry Chlo, but I like the bad cop act better."

Chloe elbows Beca hard in the ribs. "Babe, that was really harsh!"

"Aubrey seems to like it." Beca raises her hands in self-defense.

A loud thud from your bedroom makes the three of you look around. You vaguely remember having someone under your covers before you came running to the bathroom – _oh, shit_ – and sure enough, the door to your bedroom opens.

None of you were expecting the person who came out, though.

"Sorry for interrupting," says the girl, running a hand through her hair. "Thanks for last night, Aubrey."

You only nod dumbly, your eyes taking in her appearance: disheveled brown hair, heavy eyeliner on blue eyes, several ear and nose monstrosities, flannel shirt. You're pretty sure it wasn't a coincidence that this girl is a total cosplay of Beca. The girl stares around the three of you, decided the awkward atmosphere was too much, and let herself out with a motion to Aubrey to call her.

"Dude, that was a _dyke!_ " Beca gasps as soon as Clone Beca was out the door.

You roll your eyes, unsure how or even why you should explain last night's menu, and say instead in the most acid voice possible, "Congratulations, you now know the different types of homosexuals."

Chloe's spluttering. "Please tell me that girl was just a lab partner you had to tutor overnight. Oh my god, it's fucking summer break. OH MY GOD YOU SLEPT WITH HER!"

You groan internally at this, but try to keep your jaw set. "Fine, aca-bitches, after your stupid little intervention I realized the error of my ways and I decided I will not sleep around as often as I should – I mean, as often as I did. Thank you." You move to walk briskly to your room, but Chloe grabs your arm, preventing your escape.

"What the hell, Bree? How come I didn't get the memo on Aubrey Posen's coming out?" Her voice betrayed disappointment and confusion and you wince at her words.

"It was a strictly-sorority party and there was a rather zero number of guys," you answer in the calmest, straightest voice you could muster. There's no need to mention you specifically asked Stacie to introduce you to the goth girl because she has the same poor clothing choices as Beca.

"Oh, good save, Posen," Beca says sarcastically, crossing her arms.

"I should've known Stacie was behind this," Chloe growls. "Please tell me that you were sober, you knew what you were doing, and you have no regrets. Oh my god –"

"Don't be overdramatic," you cut in. "I wasn't sober, but I certainly knew what I was doing. Listen, aca-girls. I understand your concern. Now that I know it bothers you, I will be more considerate and try not to disturb you with my...one night stands. I might even try my best to stop. But I can't assure you it's going to happen immediately, because from what you have been forgetting, _I was recently dumped_ and that's particularly excruciating for a Posen. I need time to get back on my feet. So thanks for caring, and let it be known that I have noted your sentiments."

Beca and Chloe looks at each other, and sighed almost in unison that you're almost sure they timed it. There is a long silence. Then Chloe steps closer and hugs you, and you're surprised at how fast you melt into her arms. You've actually missed her.

"Of course," Chloe breathes in your neck. "Just don't shut us out, Bree."

You nod quietly, feeling a bit guilty at how fast Chloe reined in the questions she's dying to ask and tried to respect your wish instead. You make a mental note to plan how to come clean to Chloe soon, because it continually amazes you how easily Chloe gives you the space and understanding you need. Chloe lifts her head to look at Beca, who is still slightly incredulous.

"Come here for the group hug, Mitchell," Chloe calls out. "Don't make Aubrey get you."

Reluctantly Beca walks toward you and Chloe throws an arm around her, forcing her between the two of you.


	5. Chapter 5

"I was thinking we could stay at my parents for awhile," Chloe says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Get you away from Stacie."

A week after the intervention and you're seated close to Chloe on the couch again, reading a book while Chloe leaned on your shoulder. You feel her warm fingertips hovering on the side of your face and try your best not to back off, remembering the panic her hands brought you the last time. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Beca is seated nearby. The brunette was mixing on the coffee table instead of Chloe's room because Chloe's pouting that she never gets enough sunlight.

You don't quite follow the ginger's logic on how the living room atmosphere qualifies as sunlight, but Beca's here in all of her arrogant, breathtaking glory and that would probably hold Chloe's intoxicating caresses at bay.

"You say that like Stacie's this corrupted teenage boy your daughter must absolutely not see," Beca quips. "When are we going to see the 'rents?"

You raise your eyebrow at the apparent eagerness in Beca's voice. Chloe answers your unspoken question. "Oh, Mom and Dad adore Beca. She's a hit with the kids too."

You nod thoughtfully, recalling how Chloe's family were all like Chloe – socially graceful, immediately accepting and above all, touchy-feely. Having stayed with them often during holidays and breaks, the Beale household in Florida has been more of a home to you than your parents at Vermont. And while the Beales' southern charm and exuberance is sometimes too much for you, your visits have always been enjoyable. "Chlo, I'm not sure your family is capable of not adoring anybody. Even Oompa-Loompa here."

Chloe laughs and Beca tears off her headphones in annoyance. "Hey! I heard that. Besides, Chloe's folks done think I'm _mighty splendid_." Beca inflected some exaggerated Southern accent on the last sentence, and Chloe almost fell off her chair giggling.

You snort in disbelief. "Mighty splendid? Mark Twain much?"

"You're not the only one allowed to use big words here, Posen," Beca smirks. "And those are the exact words Chloe's dad used to describe me. I can't help but be awesome. Any parent would like me."

"Whoa, you're being overconfident there, tiger," you say back. _My dad would kill you if I ever take you home_. You adapt the same Southern accent. "Chloe's parents yonder done described me as a proper young 'un, they been saying I was a very smart lady – "

"Stop it," Chloe says breathlessly, chucking a pillow at you. "My parents do not talk like that at all!"

"Oh yes they do. I'm kind of surprised you don't speak like that, babe." Beca smiles at Chloe in a way that you could only describe as _romantic_ , and your chest tightens slightly – _oh god, not this jealousy thing again_. You've often thought you're above jealousy, having never understood how it worked before, until a certain nasty little brunette came along. You think back to your previous relationships. It's somehow scary, how you've never felt this strongly for those guys you were with – or any other person, for that matter.

You're pulled back to the present by Beca's voice. "Earth to Aubrey."

"What?"

"I was asking if you want to come with us to Florida," Chloe says. "Mom's been asking about you. They haven't seen you for _ages_."

You smile, feeling guilty. In an obviously-vain effort to fall in love with Jesse (and partly because you can't bear to see Chloe and Beca together any more than you have to), you spent last year's holidays and spring break with the Swansons. "What did you tell them?"

"That you were with Jesse," Chloe answers, and for some reason, her cheeks turn pink.

"I think your exact words were, 'Jesse's family is currently turning her into a vampire and she's not supposed to go out in broad daylight anymore, so I doubt you'll see her again'," Beca quickly reveals, a shit-eating grin on her face.

You put on your sternest face and stare at Chloe, who was now completely red. "Wow, you seriously made me a Cullen?"

"I'm sorry!" Chloe squeaks, hiding her face behind another pillow. "I didn't know how else to explain your absence and you know how persistent my mom is. She knows you've had boyfriends before but you've never really allowed yourself to be brought home by any of them, so she was particularly curious."

"Great. Now your mom will ask me a barrage of questions about Edward Cullen and then bake me a cake or something." You cross your arms, already picturing how Chloe's mom would surely mollycoddle you the moment you say you've broken up with Jesse.

"Who the hell is Edward Cullen?" Beca asks, obviously not grasping the importance of the situation.

"The sparkly dude who you described as perpetually constipated," Chloe answers and Beca nods in understanding. "Relax, Bree. Relationships fail. My parents surely know that, and I promise I'll do the talking for you."

"Yeah, so stop making it sound like you got knocked up or something," Beca adds. "Though at the rate you're going, well..." You direct a kick at her shins, which she successfully evades with a triumphant laugh.

"Fine, fine, I'll come," you say, trying to make it sound like you have no choice, when in reality you actually miss Chloe's parents and siblings. "When?"

Chloe only smiles and you're a bit surprised she's not squealing with delight or dancing around or something. "I don't know. Next week?"

"You ask me to come along when you don't even have a plan yet?" You gasp theatrically. "Have you met me? No one invites Aubrey Posen to abstract events. _Fine_ , I'll do the planning – "

"I can plan, Bree, jeez," Chloe cuts you off. "While you and Beca go grocery shopping."

Beca stands up so rapidly the headphones clatter to the floor. "What?! No way!"

You're a little stung, but there was no way you're letting Beca know. "Believe me, I'm equally tickled, midget."

"Much as I want to witness your banter, you two should get going," Chloe says casually, looking at the clock on the wall. "Go get the grocery list on the bedside table, Becs."

Beca carries off her laptop to Chloe's room, stomping like a teenager. It was quite amusing, and you glance at Chloe to see her chuckling.

"That came out of left field," you say. "I thought you loved grocery shopping with Beca."

"I do," Chloe replies absently, picking up her phone from the coffee table and fiddling with it. "But she puts a lot of unnecessary stuff on the cart like a little kid. And I can't tell her off because she's too cute. So it's your job now."

You cross your arms, your mind reeling with questions as to why Chloe was suddenly passing Beca off to you. Every time the two returned from their grocery trips once a week they're both positively glowing, unless Chloe went on her own personal shopping as well and dragged Beca along. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Chloe answers, not looking at you. "I just have to, you know, make a few phone calls. Like, I have to tell Mom we're coming next week." Beca reappears from Chloe's room, grocery list in hand and a grumpy look on her face. "Oh come on, Becs. You'll have two hours of tormenting Bree without anyone stopping you. That's fun, right?"

You roll your eyes at almost the same time Beca does. Chloe chuckles again and gets up, pulling your hand so you have no choice but to stand. Chloe walks over to her brunette girlfriend and kisses her; you turn away and pick up your keys from the mantlepiece, willing yourself not to look at them as you go wait for Beca in the hallway.

The couple materializes next to you a few moments later. Beca pulls on her Doc Martens with a lot of grunting, and you can't help but poke fun at her exertions. "That's what you get for shopping in the kids' section."

"Very fucking funny," Beca snaps, lacing up her right boot. "They're fine. I don't see the need of buying new shoes every other week, unlike you twig bitches."

"Yep, because all your extra money goes to Taco Bell and buying me peanut butter cups," Chloe teases, sidling next to you and looping her arm around yours. "Maybe you can convince her to get new boots while you're out, Bree."

"Why do I have to do everything around here?" you huff. Beca just stands and gives Chloe a peck on the lips. "Love you, Beale."

You can't turn away this time because Chloe's tethering you with her arm, so you play off the green-eyed monster rearing inside you with a little cough. "Whipped."

Beca smacks your stomach with the back of her hand and while it didn't hurt, you yelp at the unexpected touch. Chloe slaps Beca's hand in mild reprimand. "Bad Beca. Because of that, I'm giving your goodbye kiss to Bree."

"What?" Beca starts to laugh, until Chloe spins you around and really plants a kiss on your lips. You feel your face getting warm and Beca's expression changes to disbelief. "Chloe Marie Beale, did you seriously just kiss another girl in front of me?"

You shake your head, even while knowing it wouldn't get the scarlet out of your face. Chloe, being Chloe, just brushes it off and kisses Beca as well. "There's yours. Now get going! I love you both!"

And that's how you and Beca find yourself being shoved out to the porch, looking confusedly at each other.

* * *

"Are you serious?! We're going grocery shopping _and you forgot the damn list?!"_

You're fuming, and understandably so. You're already pushing a cart down the aisle, trying to ignore the fact that the thirty-minute car ride with Beca had been nothing but awkward silence, and then this infuriating smurf informs you that she forgot the grocery list. _Why am I in love with this exasperating – exasperatingly breathtaking – mess of a person?_

Beca just shrugs. "Everything kinda flew out the window when Chloe kissed you."

Deep breaths. You're not going to lose your cool at Trader Joe's of all places. The smug little shit couldn't even be bothered to look apologetic. "That's your excuse? You're jealous?"

"Whoa, whoa, who said I'm jealous?" Beca's scratching her earlobe – something you only see when she's about to perform or when she's in the doghouse with Chloe. You decide that it's her nervous tic. "It's just weird, is all."

"There is nothing between me and Chloe," you hiss, before remembering the way Chloe touched your legs some weeks ago. _Well, not quite._ "I'm calling her. Why I should be the one fixing your blundering is totally beyond me."

"Blundering...really? You couldn't just say 'mistake', Aubrey?"

"Don't you fucking try me, Mitchell," you growl, phone already in your ear. _Ring, ring_.

" _Bree?_ " The background noise on the other end is so loud, making you flinch. Chloe sounded out of breath. " _Call me later –_ "

"Did Beca leave the grocery list there?"

" _Uh, yeah. I can see it from here_."

"Can you dictate the contents for me?"

Some static. The strange sound of an intercom announcing calls for boarding passengers. Chloe seemed distracted when she spoke again. " _Oops, it's not the list. Uh, just some receipt. I don't see it anywhere_."

Beca's mouthing "What?" and you shoot her a death glare.

" _Anyway, those were pretty basic. Your ingredients for banana bread, pasta, milk, apples, oranges, tomatoes – the cherry ones – chicken, potatoes, whole wheat bread, bathroom cleaner, some kale, muesli. Caribbean flavor_."

"Right." Beca's scrambling to type all the things Chloe dictated, but you push her phone away. "Special requests?"

" _Are you on speaker right now? Turn it off_."

"Yes. It's off."

" _Beca loves Skittles. Throw in a few, I'll pay you when you get back."_

"No way! Not when your stupid lackey's just proven she's more trouble than she's worth." You glance at Beca, who was now staring daggers at you as well.

" _Play nice. Love you both. Tell Beca_." The line went dead.

"Why didn't you ask her to repeat the list? I haven't written everything down yet," Beca asked.

"Because I've already memorized it." You push the cart ahead, already planning the shortest route from the bread and eggs section to the counters on the other side of the store.

"Right, fucking brilliant lawyer," Beca mutters under her breath, but it was loud enough for you to hear. You spin around, angrier than before.

"You're so full of yourself, Beca. If you think I'll just swallow your insolent attitude like Chloe does, _you're fucking wrong_."

"I knew that the moment you called me 'bitch' in the first minute of meeting you."

"What motivates you to annoy me? You can stop now because I already fucking hate you. So much hate I want to move out of the apartment just to avoid your fucking smug face." You're haphazardly throwing things on the cart, bread and baking soda and Tahitian vanilla, while swearing your mouth off but you couldn't care in the slightest.

"Wow, your opinion of me wasn't that harsh a few days ago," Beca says, and while her voice was level, you know she's getting a rise as well. "Chloe's never going to fucking mention it, but you liked me so much you bedded my damn clone last week."

The moment she said it your whole body goes rigid. You know what's coming next, so you abandon the cart and make a beeline for the nearest bathroom in the fastest speed you can without attracting attention to yourself. You haven't vomited in the past few days, having limited your philandering after the intervention, so the bile that comes from your throat feels bitterer than before. _Fucking Beca._ Maybe it was your fault – assuming that Chloe and Beca was too caught up with you sleeping with a girl to even notice her actual appearance – but still, _fucking maddening Beca._

You clean yourself up until you're impeccable and return to the cart. Beca was still standing there, although her expression had changed from furious to sheepish. "I'm sorry," she says, looking at her feet. "I went too far."

"Fuck you. I don't need to explain my fucking life choices to you."

"Stop cursing."

"I can't help it if it was an all-sorority only party and the single shag-worthy person there was a girl whom you think looks a lot like you –"

"I thought you said you don't need to explain your life choices to me."

"You think I fucking _want_ you, Beca? Dream on!"

"Well, she really _does_ look like me." For some reason her sanctimonious smirk is back, and you can barely restrain from reaching over and slapping her face.

"Ear monstrosities and a flannel shirt? That's enough damn evidence that I like you?"

"Look, nobody's saying you like me, Aubrey." Beca sighs, apparently tired of the conversation. "I apologize, okay? You don't want me, fine. I get that too. What else do you want to hear?"

You close your mouth, reminding yourself that arguing with Beca would lead you nowhere. Instead you push the cart along, picking up stuff with aloof efficiency, not caring if she was following you.

In fact, you've almost forgotten about Beca until she tosses two things in the cart: a pack of Reese's peanut butter cups and a box of assorted tea. You glare at her. "No."

Beca's unfazed. "I'm paying for those."

"Why would you get Twinings _when_ _you don't even drink tea_ , you idiot?"

"That's actually for you."

You couldn't help the smile already tugging at the corners of your mouth, and Beca sees it before you turn away. She smirks. "Wow, you're quite easy to woo, Posen."

"Shut up. It doesn't mean I forgive you."

But she later spots you sneaking in a couple of Skittles on the counter, and you're satisfied at how hard she tries not to grin as well.

* * *

The moment you reach the apartment you proceed to the kitchen to put away the grocery items. Beca rummages in one of the bags for the peanut butter cups and goes out to the living room. "Chloe? We're home!"

You're fixing the contents of the refrigerator when Beca returns. "Have you seen Chloe?"

"No," you answer, not looking up from the fridge. Beca disappears again and you continue stocking vegetables on the respective racks. You've moved on to placing the muesli on the shelf when you hear loud footsteps behind you. "Beca, how many times did I tell you not to wear shoes inside the – "

"Chloe's gone."

"She probably went out to buy –"

"She's gone." You turn around and gasp a little at the unexpected expression on Beca's face: a mix of confusion and worry. "Her laptop's gone, her phone's gone, most of her clothes –"

You don't wait for her to finish; you're already storming past her to Chloe's room. At first glance nothing seems amiss – the familiar swatch of white, light blue and pink colors of the room greeting you, furniture haphazardly stationed in a way that's so Chloe, lotions and makeup items on the dresser, books and DVDs stacked neatly in a bookcase taking up an entire wall. Beca crosses the room and opens Chloe's closet. Something is definitely off; the mass of fabrics you usually see threatening to spill over is gone, replaced by a measly number of clothes in hangers. You close your eyes, not daring to believe it. _Chloe wouldn't just leave. There must be a logical explanation_.

"You don't invite someone to go on vacation in Florida and then just disappear," you hear yourself say, mechanically and evenly. "You're probably overreacting."

"Well, if you're so fucking smart, where's Chloe then?" Beca's pacing the room, wringing her hands. You walk over to the bookcase. Chloe's medical books had dwindled in number. You look at the DVDs on the upper shelf. Not seeing _Rear Window_ and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ – Chloe's favorite films – only increase the dread already welling up inside you.

Beca's holding her phone to her ear. "Her phone's off."

You say nothing, glancing at the corkboard above Chloe's desk. There are definitely missing photos. One is last year's photo of you, Jesse, Beca and Chloe standing in front of Brick Store Pub. The other is the photo of you and Beca sleeping on the couch the night you and Jesse broke up, a photo which existence you weren't aware of until you dropped by Chloe's room last week to borrow her curling iron.

"Where does she keep her camera?" Chloe has a nifty, functional toy lomography camera, which she only uses for art projects and special occasions because it was hard to find shops that still developed film nowadays. Beca opens a drawer on the desk in response, shows you the empty inside and shakes her head.

You sit down on the bed, racking your brains. There must be something sentimental that Chloe would definitely bring if she suddenly ups and leaves. There's the photos, there's the camera, there's the movies, and then –

"The binky," you say, and Beca stops pacing to look at you. "Chloe has this scrub cap from her dad, she takes it everywhere because it's supposed to inspire her or something. It's blue with the logo –"

"– of NASCAR," Beca finishes. She must have been told about Chloe's childhood weekends at the racing tracks in Daytona Beach. Beca, apparently knowing where exactly is was being kept, reaches for a box from the bookcase and dumps the contents on the bed.

There are a lot of papers – mostly letters – and a lot more bunch of photographs grouped together with rubber bands. No scrub cap.

Beca takes one look at the papers and collapses on the far end of the bed, hands frantically swiping at her eyes, an almost-unheard sob escaping her throat. You slowly realize how ominously muted the entire apartment has become.

* * *

No note, no text message, no _nothing_.

You're in your own room knocking pillows aside in a fury. Beca's standing by the door jamb, quietly wiping away tears for what must be an hour now. You're torn between the urge to comfort her, the urge to cry and the urge to puke – but since all three entails a terrible outcome, you're ransacking the entire apartment instead in the hopes that Chloe left some clue as to where she was going.

You dial another number, already knowing Chloe's was out of range. It only rings once before someone answers it warmly. _"Aubrey! What a pleasant surprise."_

"Hello, Mrs. Beale," you dutifully answer back, trying to match the enthusiasm of Chloe's mom. You put the phone on speaker and Beca looks up at the sound of the voice.

_"Nonsense. For the umpteenth time, young lady, you either call me Jessica or nothing. I take it y'all sent off my little ginger to Baltimore by now?"_

You're pretty sure you're mirroring Beca's stunned face. "What?"

_"Oh dear, if you haven't, then you better be letting her go now!"_ Mrs. Beale sounded absolutely excited. _"I'm sure y'all are going to miss Chloe terribly, but she's due in John Hopkins day after tomorrow. These med schools sure start their orientations early, don't they? But if it makes her and her daddy happy, I sure wouldn't complain. How's law school, darling? I take it you're on summer break. Or is it like med school, where they take your kids so early they can't come home to you?"_

You bury your face in your hands, finally comprehending where Chloe ran off to.

_"Aubrey? Are you still there?"_

You prod yourself to answer, not wanting to let Mrs. Beale know something was wrong. "Uh, yes ma'am. I mean, yes, I'm on summer break."

_"Good! I expect you to come visit us then, even if Chloe isn't around. And bring Beca, will you? From what I hear you're not exactly the best of friends, but Caleb and Caroline keeps on asking about her. I know I'm yammering too much, but we just miss you, dear."_

Beca sits down on your bed, scuffing the toe of her boots against the hardwood floor like a child. You highly doubt you've seen anyone more desolate in your whole life. "I'll try my best, Mrs. B – Jessica. I have to go. Please take care of yourself."

_"Alrighty. You too, dear."_ A click, and silence.

Beca's rubbing at her eyes again. You stand there for a few minutes, doing some rapid-fire decision-making. _Ugh, to hell with it. Worst-case scenario, she'll just push me away._ You sit down beside her and pull her into your arms, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and berries you're slowly getting familiar with. She doesn't resist. Instead she buries her face into your neck, her body racked by hushed sobs, and you hesitantly run a hand through that delicately-spun brown hair like you've always wished.

You've lost count of how often you dreamed of this, having her in your arms. But now it's actually happening and the only thing you could think of is, _not like this_.


	6. Chapter 6

Beca ends up sleeping on your bed. Or rather, you make her lie down on it, because after what felt like an eternity of crying she doesn't seem to want to move from her spot. You take off her boots – something you didn't expect you'd be doing for anyone, because it doesn't exactly help the reputation you have to uphold – and leave for the kitchen to eat dinner.

At the kitchen you sit drinking tea, having no appetite for anything else. By the time you return to your room Beca's asleep, knees drawn to her chest. You turn off the overhead lighting to change into your nightgown in the darkness and then turn on the bedside light, settling on the space on the bed Beca hasn't occupied.

Beca shifts closer to you and for a moment you're worried she woke up despite your soundless movements. But her eyes remain closed and you find yourself staring at her face, those delicate cheekbones, and the sharp straight line of her nose. This is one of the few times you can look at her uninterrupted and you could probably do this all night if only there weren't more pressing matters on your mind.

_Chloe._ You couldn't fathom how she could have left for John Hopkins med school without telling you. For all the things you still don't understand about Chloe, you were at least confident that she fully trusted you. That is, _until now._

Chloe had a depth that people immediately take note of, aside from her touchy-feeliness and desire to please. People know they should take Chloe seriously despite her bubbly manner. But at the same time she's too guarded, always too scared to make profound emotional connections with others. It baffled people why you were still Chloe's best friend after six years when she could have always gone out and found a new one. But you're one of the very few people Chloe opens up to with ease, and she always assured you there's nothing your friendship wouldn't survive.

You would have been happy for her. Granted, you'd be very sad, but you're all too familiar with her passion for medicine and you would be the first to urge her to go. You're pretty sure she knows how supportive you would have been. After all, you opened her acceptance letters to different med schools together. You comforted her when she got the rejection letter from Harvard med. You went with her to Florida just so she can tell her dad she's going to med school in Emory.

It's now clear why she studied so hard in the last months of the past school year. She wanted impressive grades to make the transfer to John Hopkins easier. You kick yourself mentally for not noticing the little hints – how she didn't have any definite plans for the summer, how she was more touchy-feely than usual, how evasive she was earlier when you asked if something was wrong. But Chloe has always been an enigma – the redhead has always been open and carefree, only to retreat in her own little world at the last minute – and if even Beca herself hasn't noticed anything, you're definitely not at fault.

You close your eyes and try to sleep. First thing tomorrow, you'll call Chloe and ask for an explanation.

* * *

Next morning – the first day without Chloe – you wake up to a subdued silence.

Only now does it occur to you how strongly Chloe makes her presence felt in the apartment – either by playing music, watching television, or singing in some part of the house.

Beca's still asleep beside you, one arm slung across your stomach, her face pressed against your shoulder. You're halfway to kissing her forehead before you remember that with or without Chloe, Beca is still your best friend's girlfriend. _Self-control, Aubrey. Self-control._

Instead you get up, trying not to wake Beca in the process, and force yourself to eat breakfast. You absentmindedly stir muesli in milk, wondering what to say to Chloe. You'll tell her you miss her, ask her why she didn't tell you, and wish her luck. _That would be too easy._ You'll tell her what she did was disappointing. _Or not, because no matter what happens, she should not think I'm angry and unsupportive._ You'll ask her what would happen to her relationship with Beca. _But it's none of my business, and she might wonder why I'm suddenly so concerned about her alt girlfriend._ You look down at your bowl, frowning at the now-mushy grains. _Why am I bothering with some stupid spiel anyway? She's the one who owes me an explanation._ You'll just dial the number, wait for her to speak, and hope for the best.

You've been trying to call Chloe for almost two hours, getting nothing but voicemail, when Beca turns up. She takes the chair across yours, looking anywhere but at you. The silence after she settles down is so thick you could almost taste it.

"Can I get you anything?" you say, your voice echoing awkwardly in the kitchen. Beca only shakes her head no.

"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday's brunch." You remember, because you made eggs Benedict that she and Chloe highly complimented. Beca shakes her head again. You decide not to push it, instead proceeding to wash your bowl and utensils in the sink.

Beca speaks the moment you turn your back to her. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," you answer honestly. You've been so focused on trying to get Chloe on the line, you haven't really thought about anything else. "I don't think we can do anything."

"She hasn't called or messaged me at all. I mean, dude, why can't she just tell me? I wouldn't have stopped her." Even without looking at Beca, you could clearly hear the despair in her voice.

You sigh. "Beca – I don't really have any answers."

Clearly disappointed, Beca stands and shuffles out of the kitchen. You hear the door to Chloe's room closing. She doesn't come out the entire day.

* * *

The second day you're woken up by loud music. Frustrated by the heavy drumming and the unmistakable sound of an unearthly being yelling its lungs out, you trudge indignantly to the living room.

Beca's obliviously stretched out on the couch, eyes closed, a swallow-blue coat draped across her chest. She opens one eye, sensing your presence. "Hey look. Chloe left me her favorite coat. She left those clothes I like on her, actually."

You say nothing, crossing your arms. The displeasure must have shown in your face anyway because Beca suddenly scrambles to lower the volume of the speakers attached to her iPod. "Sorry. It's just really awful quiet since..." Her voice trails off and she looks away quickly.

"Can you at least play your mixes instead? What you're playing is not music, it's the equivalent of nails scratching a bloody chalkboard –"

"No," Beca answers, still not looking at you. "They're all about...you know."

You turn off the music, opting for the television instead. Beca doesn't protest. You put in Season 1 of _Community_ because it's the only show Beca willingly watches, and then push her legs aside so you can sit on the couch.

The day passes by in agonizing slowness. Both of you don't get up from the couch until you decide to order pizza. Beca barely touches her portion, so you shrug and end up eating most of the pizza yourself by the time six o'clock p.m. rolls around. Normally you would've chastised yourself for even getting a second slice, but just two days without Chloe and you're not sure what's normal anymore. Beca seems to think the same, staring blankly at the characters of _Community_ onscreen without really seeing them, her face devoid of any emotion. She sets her phone on redial and lays it down on the coffee table. For the next hours you hear Chloe's tinny voicemail greeting over Jeff Winger's arguments.

Three seasons of _Community_ later, Beca announces she's going to bed. You wait for her to proceed to Chloe's bedroom until she turns on her side, back facing you, and you realize that she intends to spend the night on the couch. You clean up the coffee table, wash your face haphazardly in the bathroom and collapse on your bed, exhausted with your fruitless efforts of getting Chloe out of your mind.

* * *

The third day the house is decidedly serene. Beca's nowhere to be seen, but the backpack she usually lugs around and her mixing equipment is still on Chloe's bedroom, so you assume she went to get something to eat.

Having no plans, you figure you'd just wait for Beca and then... _well, do nothing_. You're gradually getting comfortable with the silence anyway, knowing Beca's right beside you and the two of you are in this Chloe-abandonment thing together. You run a hot bath in the tub and settle in with a book and a bottle of wine you meant to open on the last day of summer vacation. You idly tread bubbles, a part of you strongly objecting your current lack of direction and another part set on not caring. Since you and Chloe became roommates in college you never had to plan summers, because the redhead would map every party, road trip or vacation the two of you have to attend. You expected this summer to be the same until Chloe walked out.

You shake your head and dial Chloe's number for what feels like the thousandth time. Busy tone. You immerse your body in the water and try to concentrate on _One Hundred Years of Solitude_.

Once you empty your wine bottle and finish the novel, you realize that Beca hasn't returned yet. You get up from the tub and you're suddenly thrown by how dizzy you are; it's cold and you hurry to put on your bathrobe. The apartment is dark. You slowly go around flicking on lights, trying not to fall over. You collapse on the couch and dial Beca, wondering how long would it be until your brain cells are fried from too many attempts to call people. She doesn't pick up.

Before you fall asleep you make a mental note to look for Beca tomorrow.

* * *

Which is why you're standing uncertainly in front of Barden's Baker Hall the fourth day without Chloe, questioning yourself and delaying the inevitable. _What happened to my life? Why am I suddenly pursuing someone I wanted to feed to the wolves a year ago?_ Your mind is inventing a hundred reasons why you should go home and lock the door and forget about Beca Mitchell forevermore. You can have the apartment to yourself because Chloe's gone, you can do whatever you wish, and you can be free from a certain tiny brown-haired blue-eyed person who turns up in the kitchen at six in the morning.

But you're Aubrey Posen. Once you decide to do something, you do it well. Go big or go home is your work attitude. So you strut the few meters to Beca's dorm, and you somehow wish it wasn't summer because it amuses you to no end when you do this walk and people actually part in the hallways.

You've barely raised your hand to knock when the door flies open. An Asian girl with hair so straight and black it's disturbing – stands in the doorway, glaring at you.

"Good, the white girl has a zookeeper," she spats out. "Your pet hasn't eaten for almost two days. I don't want to be stuck with a dead body."

And that is how you make your acquaintance with Kimmy Jin, the famed roommate from hell Chloe and Beca often jokes about. You maintain your perfect posture and cross your arms. "Get out."

"I'm sorry?" Kimmy Jin snarls, mirroring your stance. "FYI, self-entitled white girl, this is my dorm."

You merely raise one eyebrow and plant your hands on your hips. Kimmy Jin finally wavers, throwing you one last dirty look before storming out. You watch her exit with satisfaction, amused at how that old intimidation trick works like a charm every time. _Except on Beca_ , you think bitterly.

Speaking of which – Beca (or whom you assume as Beca under the covers) lay on her bed, her back to you, not moving. You close the door and sit on the edge of the bed.

"Beca?"

She doesn't budge. Her voice is gravelly and small when she answers. "What are you doing here?"

"Come home."

"I'm home. We're in my dorm."

"No, I mean come home with me," you begin, before realizing how awkward that sounded. _How fucking cute._ Words suddenly decide to fail you in Beca's presence. "Your mixing equipment and your flannel shirts are there in the apartment –"

"Yeah, I'll clear out my stuff soon as I can. You didn't have to come here and bug me," Beca says dryly and _god, how on earth did she just misinterpret what I said?_ It was obviously time for more drastic measures.

"Do you seriously need a PowerPoint presentation or something, Beca? What I'm telling you is, come home and mope in the apartment –"

"I am not moping," Beca replies angrily, tightening the covers around her. "I'm sleeping. Before you came in, anyway –"

"Fine, then sleep in the apartment with me! Ugh – I mean, you can sleep. In the apartment. But not on my bed. On Chloe's bed, or on the couch. While I am in my room keeping a respectable distance –"You groan inwardly to yourself and give up, because every third word out of your mouth sounds wrong.

The moment you stop speaking Beca rolls around to face you. Her face is puffy and pale, there were dark circles underneath her eyes, and her tousled hair has certainly seen better days.

"Whoa, Aubrey Posen, are you saying you miss me?" Beca asks, and you could have torn her apart if only you didn't see that ghost of a smirk lurking in her features.

"Yes."

And your simple admission – however embarrassing on your part – finally puts back the smirk in Beca's face. You try to keep the smile off your own face at her reaction. Beca's self-satisfied smirk is so worth ruining your cold, unflinching reputation fifty times over.

"Dude, really? You don't have to hurt yourself just to get me out of bed, you know –"

"Shut up," you mutter. "You're supposed to be under my jurisdiction or something." It's partly true, because she's your best friend's girl and Chloe kind of abandoned you too so you're supposed to stick together in this, right?

"Nuh-uh, you don't get to explain," Beca teases, sitting up. "All I hear coming out from your mouth is 'I miss you Becaaaaa –'" she puts on a high-pitched, unpleasantly girly voice at the last phrase and you glower at her.

"Something else will come out of my mouth if you don't stop _right now_."

"Don't you use your superpower on me," Beca recoils, trying to look horrified. "I like these sheets, man."

You merely roll your eyes. "You've barely eaten anything for _days_ , Beca. And it shows. Get up. You're coming with me."

The smirk disappears and Beca draws her knees up to her chest, looking away. "Are you sure you want me there? I mean, people don't seem to want me anywhere near them –"

"That's not true!" you interrupt quickly, because really, how can anyone not want Beca at all? "Why would I be here then?"

"But Chloe left me."

You sigh and lay back on the covers, suddenly tired. Part of you wants to say _yes, Chloe left you, so why don't we get together instead and have aca-children?_ But damn your unshakeable loyalty because no matter how frustrated you are with Chloe, you would never, _ever_ , try to steal the one person you _know_ she sincerely loves.

Even if that person is sitting beside you – vulnerable, possibly angry, and most likely very easy to brainwash.

"Have you noticed Chloe's attitude regarding studying?"

Beca manages a small snort. "What does it have to do with anything?" Your eyes must have unconsciously flashed a warning, because she's suddenly scrambling to answer. "She doesn't even have to study. She's so clever it's alarming."

"Exactly."

Beca looks at you, apparently surprised. Whether she wasn't expecting your answer or she couldn't believe you acknowledged Chloe's immense intelligence, you don't wait to know. "Chloe is so smart that frankly, the proceedings of Emory med school bore her. She puts in a minimal amount of work and yet she's still on top of her class. The only times she'll make a full effort in studying – in most things, actually – is when she sees a challenge. It's either too difficult, or the stakes are high, or the rewards will last her a lifetime. And John Hopkins is the third best medical school in America. No one gets an acceptance letter there and says no – unless, of course, they also got into Harvard or Stanford."

Beca's nodding, and there's a painful jab inside you because it's exactly the way Chloe nods when she's listening to your explanations – head cocked to one side, eyes cast downward, worrying her bottom lip, fingers of one hand drumming on her lap while the other hand stays perfectly still. "So I should've panicked when Chloe started studying feverishly a few months ago."

"Don't blame yourself," you chide gently. "You couldn't have known. Even before you were together Chloe was always fretting about not getting into Harvard med and having no choice but to go to Emory. And then there were you, who made the decision easier. But she must have always planned to get in other med schools come admission for the next school year. I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything, just leans back on her pillow and puts her hands up to her face.

"I'm sure she still wants you. But you have to know that she throws a hundred percent into whatever it is she decides to do. I'm sure it took a lot of difficulty pushing your relationship into the backseat."

"Yeah, and I should just be thankful I'm still in the car, right?" Beca says sarcastically. "She could have explained it to me before leaving. I would've understood."

"Chloe's a lot of things. Confrontational is not one of them. Take comfort in the fact that she ran away instead of giving you some lame-ass excuse. It meant she couldn't find words good enough to make you understand what it was exactly that she wanted. Not that you're dumb – not at all – she just didn't trust herself enough and in the end she felt it was better to say nothing, instead of conveying the wrong thing."

"Did Chloe ask you to tell me all this?" Beca's voice is muffled as she replaces the hands on her face with another pillow.

You remember all the busy tones, the out-of-coverage-area prompts. "She never picked up."

"So there's no way of knowing if what you're saying are true."

You close your eyes in defeat. "None."

Beca drops the pillow, sits up, and stares at you thoughtfully for a long while. You feel your face burning red and you're suddenly annoyed by how blushing is the only thing you can't control in your control-hungry life. But you stare back, determined to let her see that _yes, I know what I'm saying, because I'm Chloe's best friend._

"I've made up my mind to believe you," she finally says, with the sigh of one who has no other choice.

* * *

The fifth day, however, the tentative peace Beca finds after you convinced her to come back to the apartment is gone. You wake up in the dark hours of dawn, unsure of what roused you because the house felt still. You're pretty sure you triple-locked the front and back door before going to bed so a burglar is out of the question. Sighing, you get up, dig up the envelope that you've been keeping on your bedside drawer for days, and proceed to the living room.

Beca's seated on the couch, palms massaging her eyes. Beside her lay her laptop, headphones and a mess of blankets and pillows. You assume she's taking a break from mixing until you see her broken cellphone on the floor. From the looks of it the phone wasn't simply dropped – it was stomped on, judging by the fine black bits of plastic strewn around.

The brunette drops her hands and doesn't seem at all surprised by your presence. You take a seat beside her, carefully placing the laptop a little further on top of the coffee table in fear that she'd destroy that too. She stares at what you're doing for a long while, anguish obvious in her gray-blue eyes, until she finally decides to break the silence.

"She'll never fucking answer, right?"

You shrug, because you've just about broken your own phone dialing Chloe every time you get the chance. "Definitely not at five a.m."

"She must be having so much fun," Beca says bitterly, chucking her headphones on the coffee table. "So much fun she's forgotten us."

"Chloe's not that kind of person. Just give her time. She'll come around." You say the words you've often repeated to yourself in the past few days. But of course, Beca being Beca, they don't work.

"How can you fucking defend her? She ran off without a word!"

"She's my best friend. I'd defend her pro bono to the ends of the world if I have to."

"And what about us? We're just supposed to pick up our shit and move on?"

"I'm not exactly a closure kind of person, Beca. If you're uncomfortable with the idea, do something else. But I'm not doing anything that would make this harder for Chloe. So yes, I will pick up my shit -" you cringe inwardly at the unnecessary swearing "- and move on."

At this, Beca turns to you, livid.

"How can you just sit there so _calmly_ , Aubrey? How can you just go on fucking living?" Her tone was unexpectedly harsh, and you're automatically tense even if there's no reason to be.

"You call what I'm doing _living_? The first day after Chloe left I lounged in my room all day and abused my phone's speed dial button. The second day I watched Community the entire day, didn't take a bath, and ate three-fourths of a big-ass pizza. The third day I drank an entire bottle of wine by myself and was actually contemplating suicide in the damn tub. I haven't gone out at all until yesterday, Beca! And to think that I had a lot of grand plans after your stupid intervention. I wanted to organize my music collection. I wanted to organize a party with Stacie and the girls because I haven't seen them in forever. I wanted to double my cardio workout. That's fucking living, and I haven't done any of those!"

Beca flinches at the annoyance in your voice. "Why are we yelling at each other?"

You almost want to slap her face. "You started it! God, you're infuriating!"

To your surprise, Beca immediately drops her shoulders, realizing what she's doing. She sighs. "Sorry. You're right. I can't do this anymore."

"I haven't said anything," you reply, still a little confused at the sudden change in her attitude. It's one of Beca's most admirable traits you've seen in the past few days: she's able to apologize without stalling the moment she knows she did something wrong. You're still trying to get used to it.

"I can't stand not knowing." Beca lies back on the couch, putting her hands at the back of her head. "I know you know what you're saying, Aubrey. But I just have to hear her say it."

"Say what?"

"If she...you know, still wants me."

You fish your envelope out of your nightgown and toss it on her lap. Frowning, she rips it open, and you watch intently even if you know what's inside: a plane ticket to Baltimore two days from now. She stares at the ticket for a while and then looks at you uncertainly, her eyes wide.

"Shit. This must've been expensive, Aubrey!"

You let out a short laugh. "I give you a chance to go get your girl and that's the first thing you say?"

"Your practicality is rubbing off on me," Beca shrugs, and then gets right back on the topic. "Are you, like, Dixie Chicks serious? You actually bought this for me?"

"Oh, no. I just felt like traipsing to Maryland because the weather there does wonders for my complexion. _Seriously_ , Beca?"

Beca just looks at you, scratching her earlobe, pondering what to say.

"Chloe's spot-on. You're really our hero, Aubrey," Beca finally speaks up. "What would we do without you?"

"Fornicate," you answer sarcastically, crossing your legs and turning on the TV, letting her know the conversation is over. You don't want to say more than you should. Or maybe you were just scared you would blurt out how much this actually hurt for you.

"What about you? I mean, don't you want to talk to her too?" As usual, Beca's relentless, grabbing the remote from you and turning the TV off.

"I can stand not knowing. Chloe will talk to me when she's ready." That has always been the case with Chloe during your years of friendship; you've learned not to prod when the redhead had a problem, because she only shut you out. In the end Chloe always told you, in great detail and with much pacing back-and-forth, what was bothering her. You only have to wait.

"I'll pay you back."

"Save it. I just don't want to see your mopey face ever again." Beca's eyes go a little wider and you realize how mean that sounded, so you soften your voice. "So you better come back happy, Mitchell, or I'm not letting you in the apartment."

Beca only laughs, most traces of her previous frustration gone. "Thanks, Bree." Seeing the incredulous look on your face – it's the first time she actually calls you by Chloe's nickname for you – she adds, "Or would you like me to call you dude instead?"

You roll your eyes. "I'm not a dog you get to name. Now work off your debt and make me breakfast."


	7. Chapter 7

The last you hear from Beca are some text messages right as she was arriving in Baltimore.

_\- Hey bree. Plane ddnt crash haha. Sorry ur plan 2 get rid of me backfired. Landing in 10 min_

You shake your head at her terrible textspeak – because you believe good grammar and punctuation should still be applied even in text messaging and online media – and send back a carefully-worded reply.

_That is so unfortunate. And I was getting ready to send out your obituary to Barden Press. (Smile) I emailed Chloe to at least tell you her address or you'll dig up the whole of John Hopkins trying to find her. If she didn't, you can choose a place to stay from that list I provided you._

_\- Dude u txt lyk a victorian novel. Use a smiley FFS. Flyt attendant breathes fire lyk u so i hav 2 turn off fone for a bit. Txt u l8r_

You roll your eyes even if she can't see you and set your phone down, fighting the urge to reply something that would surely be nonsensical and trying to focus on your new book instead. _Jeez, Aubrey, calm down. She said she'll text you._

Twenty minutes later, your phone beeps and you leap at it to read the message. Sure enough, it's Beca.

_\- Chloe picked me up at airport. Otw 2 her dorm now_

Apparently Chloe has not only received your email, she also decided to get her head out of her ass and meet Beca. You exhale loudly in relief. At least you can stop worrying about Chloe hiding from Beca.

Oddly enough, the idea that Beca and Chloe are together again doesn't stir a twinge of jealousy in you – but before you can reflect on that, Beca sends you another text.

_\- She's cry-smiling and not talking and being rly weird what do i do?_

You can't help but chuckle at that one. Apparently Beca has never dealt with being separated from Chloe until now. The few times you and Chloe were apart, Chloe's attitude upon seeing you again was exactly how Beca described her.

The very first time you weren't together – you left for a debate competition in New York during sophomore year – Chloe met you at the airport upon your return, said nothing except "I missed you", and alternated between smiling, crying, and gazing at you on the ride home. It was disconcerting, but over the years you learned how to deal with it. And once you did the results were rather endearing.

_Chloe has separation anxiety. The only thing that works is hugging and kissing her repeatedly. I assume you're in a cab, so please DO NOT kiss her on the lips or anywhere unsuitable for an audience. Have some decency. She might pinch or bite you. Let her._

You assume Beca will be acting on your advice so you return to your book, not expecting a reply. You've almost forgotten her half an hour later when she messages you again.

_\- She bit me LOADS. Totally worked though. It's kinda cute. Thx :) and that's how u use a smiley._

You sigh, remembering how you felt the same way when Chloe bit or pinched you on several cab rides from airports. Chloe later told you she hurt you for two reasons: as punishment for not being with her, and to make sure you're real and she's not dreaming. You found her even more adorable after that.

And now, you can perfectly imagine Chloe doing it to Beca. It only makes you miss them even more.

_I miss you so much._

You type the simple message with much deliberation, and though you know she wouldn't reply, you send it to Chloe's number just the same.

* * *

Beca doesn't give word of when she's coming back. In fact, you don't hear from her after she arrived in Baltimore. In her absence you resign yourself to staying in Atlanta; there is no way you're visiting Vermont, even if your siblings call you a lot of times hinting that your father wants you home.

"If it's so important that I come home, shouldn't Dad be calling me himself?"you say sarcastically before hanging up.

You distract yourself from Beca and Chloe's lack of communication by keeping yourself busy. You hang around at Emory's library and write tons of articles you intend to publish on the law school journal. You keep the apartment spotless. You finish your summer book list, and when that isn't enough, you buy more books. You double your cardio. You calorie-calibrate your meals (because even several weeks later, you still haven't forgiven yourself for eating three-fourths of that pizza). You get coffee with a favorite professor, who introduces you to several other like-minded students. You get asked to several dates by these like-minded students and you go, even if none of them are Beca and therefore none of them are your type. _At least I get to perfect my fine-dining manners,_ you muse pragmatically.

Of course, with all the idle moments, you can't help but think. Unfortunately, your thoughts often lead to Beca and Chloe. You love them both so much – damn you and your unhinged feelings – and there's simply no way you'll ever tear them apart just for your own satisfaction.

And so you make the conscious decision, one quiet morning as you sit on the couch by yourself, that you'll never, ever tell anyone about Beca. You're pretty confident you can steal her away from Chloe if you wish to, but you brush away the selfish thought immediately. Chloe is and has always been your person. You would never, ever hurt her – or Beca – intentionally.

You also wonder how it happens that one moment you're living with Jesse, Beca and Chloe and then it's just Chloe and Beca and then it's just Beca and then you're alone. You try not to dwell on it too much, because Aubrey Posen is not supposed to wallow in self-pity, and you should have been used to people not liking you in the first place because of your neuroticism and sharp tongue (which you can freely admit to yourself, although it angers you when others point it out).

Luckily Stacie, of all people, proves you wrong before you can drive yourself crazy. A week after Beca left the tall brunette calls you.

"Aubrey Posen speaking."

"I'll never get used to that greeting," Stacie laughs on the other end. "Hey, we have a party at my sorority house later. Wanna come? I promise I won't hook you up with anybody. Chloe and DJ B just about burned me when I agreed to be your wingman."

To her mouthful of a greeting, you could only remark, "You guys never run out of parties, do you?"

"Aubrey, we're a _sorority_. It's kind of our reason for existence. And it's not like you have a lot of things lined up. It's fucking summer."

"I _do_ have a lot of things lined up," you say, a tad indignantly. "I've been reading my law books for second year –"

"Cool! We'll pick you up later at eight!" Stacie chirps, and you can almost imagine her waving off your answer with a well-manicured hand. "Bodily, if Fat Amy has to!"

You end up having a great time and Stacie invites you to a bajillion more parties afterwards. And then it's not just her, but gradually the rest of the Bellas inviting you to places as they come back from summer break. On the off days when you're not roaming Atlanta with the girls they'd usually camp in the apartment instead, holding movie marathons and pedicure sessions and impromptu drinking parties. You don't understand why on earth these people would be making efforts to see you, but you certainly appreciate it. Their constant presence, despite the chatter and the mostly-inappropriate jokes and the mess afterwards, calm you down.

You start stockpiling frozen pizza and beer in the fridge, even if you wouldn't be caught dead consuming them. You buy more shades of nail polish for Stacie and Ashley to try when they come over. You download music you know only Cynthia Rose and Denise can appreciate. You try not to cross yourself when Lilly asks to use your laptop 'for research'. You make Lamingtons at one of your sleepovers, even if you've never had one before, because you recalled Fat Amy saying sometime at a party that she misses eating them. (Fat Amy almost crushes you in a bear hug that night, saying they taste like her mom's, which you believe is a high compliment.) When you learn Jessica loves movies you show her the collection Jesse left in your bedroom, and she actually squeals and you lend her some of them (after a tentative, carefully-worded text message to Jesse, of course).

At one of the movie marathons, Fat Amy finally asks.

"What happened to Red?"

The other girls look around, and judging by their curious expressions, they've been dying to ask you this a long time ago. You decide to indulge them. After all, they're Beca and Chloe's friends as well.

"Chloe was accepted into John Hopkins med school at Maryland. Beca went there to spend time with her before term starts." There. That wasn't the entire picture, but you don't believe it's your story to tell, so you'd rather stick with facts instead.

"We know that," Cynthia Rose says, and to your raised eyebrow she adds, "Beca sent us a group text that if ever we need her, she's in Baltimore to be with Chloe. She kind of explained the med school thing when I asked."

"What we're asking is why didn't she say goodbye to us?" Denise pipes up, and you look around at all of them, their eyes reflecting the same confusion you felt the moment you called Chloe's mom.

"I don't know," you sigh. "She didn't really say goodbye to anyone, even me and Beca." This gets wide-eyed looks from most of the girls. "Don't...don't judge Chloe. I know she comes across as happy and carefree and all that, but deep down, like the rest of us, a lot of things scare her too and maybe we should just leave it at that."

"Even you and Beca?" Stacie asks, shaking her head. "I'll never understand Chloe."

You shrug. "Judging by how shocked Beca and I were when she left, I guess we haven't understood Chloe as fully as we thought. I won't even try to explain her behavior, but please just... Look, I'm her best friend. And I may be frustrated, maybe even furious with her as of the moment, but I'm a hundred percent supportive of her decision, even if we weren't given the chance to be involved in it. And Beca stands by Chloe too. She wouldn't be in Baltimore if she didn't. We may not understand, but we all want her to be happy. And at this moment I know she is, and that's enough for me. I hope you'll feel the same way."

You observe them as they absorb your words. Cynthia Rose is chewing on her bottom lip; Denise leans against her shoulder and exhales. Fat Amy, for once, has no ridiculous comment, only twiddling her thumbs. Jessica is drumming her fingers against her lap. Ashley's eyes are downcast, directed at the carpet, although obviously not really seeing it. Lilly's staring at you as if trying to decipher something off your expression. Stacie, who's seated beside you, is also looking at you until she puts a hand on your lap, palm side up. You smile and put your hand over hers, she tightens her grip reassuringly, and in that moment you realize how intensely Chloe could affect people because even these girls feel heavy over her absence when they're not even living under the same roof.

"You're really good with words," Lilly says, and though her voice was barely audible, it breaks the thoughtful silence that settled after your little declaration.

"Thank you."

"I was kinda prepared to hate Red," Cynthia Rose admits quietly. "But what you said...it really helped. I see where she's coming from."

"Yeah," Fat Amy agrees. "I can get behind you on this being-happy-for-Chloe campaign. I'd battle a hundred dingoes just to see that gal happy."

You glance at each of them in turn, and all of them apparently feel the same way as Fat Amy, judging by the way they nod back at you. You feel it's an appropriate time to ask your own question. "So that's why you aca-bitches were always around? To ask about Chloe?"

"No," Stacie answers. "When I got that text from Beca, I just thought you'd be alone here and...Well, being alone sucks."

"You've been alone?" Cynthia Rose incredulously asks, and Stacie chucks a throw pillow at her with a laugh.

"So we thought we'd keep you company," Ashley says. "We hope you don't mind."

"I still have an entire bookcase full of rom-coms," Jessica offers. "We can do this anytime you want."

"We know you're Aubrey Posen and you might not want the company at all, but...all you need is ask, and we'll be there," Stacie adds warmly, and at this moment, you couldn't be more grateful for this girl who's obviously more than just boobs and sex.

You're grateful for all of these girls, actually. They came to your aid without knowing it, when you're pretty sure you were a hopeless case and people have some secret vendetta to make you miserable. These Bellas turned up, diverted your neuroticisms with their presence, and made sure you got back to being the Aubrey Posen they know and somehow accept, despite your puking episodes and acerbic attitude and your punishments of extra cardio back when you were still captain.

"Thanks, aca-girls," you say, looking at all of them fondly. "You have no idea how much this helped me."

"The free booze doesn't hurt too," Fat Amy holds up her can of beer, and everybody laughs.

* * *

Three weeks before term starts – on a morning you spend hung-over because the previous night Fat Amy and the girls thought it would be fun to see you drunk – Beca calls you.

"Too loud," you hear a voice grumble, and you almost jump off your bed. You spot Stacie sprawled on the floor of your bedroom.

"Jesus, Stacie, what are you doing here?!"

Stacie lifts her head and blinks. "Ugh, I don't know... I remember thinking how your rug looks so cozy, though. Can you please do something about that damn phone?"

You shake your head and pick the phone up from your nightstand. "Aubrey Posen speaking."

_"No shit. I thought I called Jesse,"_ Beca says, though the taunt has less bite to it than usual. Or maybe the background noise on her end is just really overwhelming. _"I'm coming home. Will you be there later around dinner?"_

You don't immediately answer, because your heart is too busy trying to dance its way out of your chest. Beca just called your place – where you now live alone – _home_.

_"Bree?"_

"Uh, I don't have any plans. I guess. Yes, I'll be here."

_"It took you more than ten words to convey yes? Dude, you're losing your touch."_

"Shut up."

And Beca actually does. There's a brief silence, punctuated by a dull roar of people around her. You were actually going to complain about how it makes your hangover worse when Beca speaks again.

_"Chloe says she misses you too."_

"Well, she's making a pretty good show of it." You belatedly realize how bitter you sound and you massage your temple with one hand, blaming it on the hangover.

_"Don't,"_ Beca says, her voice clearly different now. You realize why when she sniffs the next moment – she must have been crying. _"She's not ready. You said it yourself."_

"I did. Is she with you right now?"

_"Yeah."_

You lie back on your bed and close your eyes. "How is she?"

Beca's quiet for a moment. _"We're sitting side by side in the airport lounge. She's leaning against my shoulder. Weather's great and she's wearing one of my flannels. A blue-green one. It brings out her eyes and hair. She's beautiful as ever. Just a bit thinner. And her cheeks aren't as rosy. She pulled all-nighters almost the entire week so she looks pale – aww, she fell asleep. She was awake when I called you."_

You bite back a smile to no avail, because Beca is rarely this forthcoming – _and sensible_ , you almost add – in person. "Tell me more."

_"Her hair looks different – still vibrant red, just different. I can't tell why and maybe you could, if you were here. I suck at these hairstyle things. She has fewer freckles than I remember. Oh, Chloe had to get glasses. You know how she squints when she's watching TV? Anyway. She looks smashing wearing them."_ You're pretty sure Beca is smiling on the other end too, and she continues, although in a more somber tone. _"She cried a lot last night. About me leaving. A bit about you too, because she says she's scared she'll never find the right words and she might lose you."_

"A Posen does not keep grudges. We hold our heads high and move on."

_"But you're angry with Chloe right now."_

You roll your eyes. You're going to remember this as the Reveal-Aubrey's-Feelings summer. It certainly seems like you've been explaining yourself too much to people lately. "A little. But nothing would make me lose her." _Not even you,_ you almost add. You've already decided you would never speak about your feelings for Beca, and no matter what happens you're sticking to it.

Beca lets out a sigh. _"I'll tell Chloe."_

"You should. Exactly what time are you coming in?"

_"You're not picking me up, are you?"_ Even without seeing her, you know Beca's smirking.

"I was going to be the bigger person and offer to do so, but then you reminded me you're a lost cause."

_"No, seriously, you don't have to. I kind of forgot to tell Dad about Baltimore, so he's picking me up and, you know, go on and on about how I could've died or something."_

You roll your eyes. "What? Beca, you've been gone two weeks! If I were your dad you'd be getting more than a sermon!"

_"No need to brag about your parenting skills, thank you very much."_ A pause, and then, " _Hmm. So you've been keeping track of how long I was gone, huh, Aubrey?"_

The way Beca says the last phrase was suddenly self-satisfied with the barest hint of mischief, and you almost want to chuck your phone at the wall.

* * *

"Hello there, stranger," Beca smirks.

You don't care that you opened the door before she could knock because you've seen Dr. Mitchell's car stop on the lane leading to the apartment. You don't care that you're wearing one of your tiniest denim shorts and the neighbors might spot you. You don't care that Beca's bogged down with two additional bags more than her backpack. You don't even bother to roll your eyes at her terrible greeting line. You pull her into a hug, which you manage easily because of your ridiculous height difference.

And the shocker is that Beca drops one of the bags in her hand and puts an awkward arm around you. It didn't seem much, but for Beca Mitchell, that kind of intimacy must have been a huge leap.

"Dork." Never have you ever uttered another insult so lovingly. _Damn it, Posen, you're getting soft._

"Mmm'shoo," Beca garbles near your collarbone. Her hand, which was barely brushing your back earlier, relaxes and settles securely at your waist. Her touch is surprisingly warm.

"Did you just say 'miss you'?" You say breathlessly, even if you were only standing by the doorway hugging Beca, feet planted firmly on the ground.

"I said 'get your claws off me', Bree," Beca says tauntingly, and she pulls back with her usual trademark smirk. "I haven't gone bonkers, unlike you."

"God, barely a minute and you're already being annoying." You turn and step back inside, suddenly ashamed of your eager display of affection. Beca follows you as you sit primly on the couch, bouncing on the plush cover beside you with a force that makes you wince. "Seriously, Beca? Do I need to housebreak you?"

Beca rolls her eyes, and then her face sobers up. "How're you doing?"

You bite back the sarcastic remark you're longing to say at her bordering-on-solemn expression. "I'm fine," you say with a shrug, crossing your legs and staring at your lap. "What happened to you and Chloe?"

"We, uh, we're doing the long-distance thing." Beca ponders about it for a second, and then shakes her head. "No, that means nightly Skype and suffocating things and stuff. We both don't want that. It's kind of that thing on Facebook. Like an open relationship."

"So you're together until you're willing to fuck other people?" The words come out harsher than you intended, and Beca visibly winces.

"That's not gonna happen. Besides, I initiated the whole thing. I just...I don't want to be a distraction."

"You deserve better." _Seriously, Aubrey? What happened to 'not stealing Beca'?_ You shake your head and massage your temple with one hand. "I'm sorry. I'm frustrated with Chloe so my arguments are subjective, and therefore invalid. Don't listen to me."

"Chloe is the best." Beca smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her blue-grey eyes. "I'll keep coming back to her. And she'll find her way back to me too."

At that moment, you kind of want to crawl under the covers of your bed and cry your eyes out.

"It will work out," you hear yourself say instead. _Great, Posen. Just great. You're a martyr._

"It will," Beca says. You turn to her and her eyes are shining with determination.

* * *

"It smells like sexual desperation in here," Fat Amy complains later that afternoon, when you're all stuck watching _The Vow_. "It's boring and there are no men _anywhere_."

Barely five hours after they had left, the Bellas are back in the apartment again to see Beca. The brunette had barely rested and unpacked – the two of you had barely finished cleaning up after lunch when Stacie and the others arrived – but Beca gamely entertained them, beaming as the girls hugged her one by one.

"Don't ask for men," Beca suddenly quips. "Aubrey might bring a bunch of them home again and –" You elbow her so hard in the ribs and the others start laughing. They've obviously heard about your little breakup marathon from Chloe.

"In any case, can we please, please go out tonight?" Stacie asks. "There's a party at the Trebles' clubhouse later. And I've had enough of staring at that bulge in Channing Tatum's jeans. I want the real thing _pronto dente_."

"Ewwww!" you all chorus, making varied expressions of disgust. Stacie only chuckles.

"So is it a go or a no?" Lilly asks. "I have assassinations to postpone."

It's a good thing that after your first ICCA win Lilly became more confident and she now speaks at an audible volume. But there's an unfortunate downside: you can also hear the creepy things she says. You look at each other uneasily.

Beca stares hard at you, the question clear in her eyes, and you put on your automatic frown when she's being an idiot. "Are you actually _asking_ for my permission like some two-year-old, Mitchell?"

"I'll need someone to drive me home when I'm hammered," she answers with a smirk, and Cynthia Rose and Denise lets out a whoop.

"Wow, so I'm your chauffeur now?"

Fat Amy, obviously excited, grabs the others one by one by the collar and drags them out the door before Beca can retort. "I declare this batshit bonanza over! We have a party to prepare for!"

* * *

It's evening and you're running late, because the girls surprisingly came back to the apartment half an hour before the scheduled meeting time. You're trying to find something appropriate to wear when your phone, set neatly on your bedside table, rings shrilly.

"God, not now," you mutter as you're rummaging in your closet, clad only in your underwear. _What to wear?_ You don't want something that shouts _fuckable_ , just something that conveys _I'm here with friends and I intend to have fun but I'm going home sober_. You carefully lay a blue top and a cream skirt on the bed.

Your phone's still ringing. You absentmindedly press answer and speaker, not glancing at the screen, and go right back to poking through your array of dresses. "Aubrey Posen speaking."

_"Aubrey?"_

You freeze. It's Chloe's voice, clear and reverberating on your quiet bedroom.

_"Aub-rey,"_ Chloe says again, in that singsong tone she often uses right before she tackle-hugs you.

"Now you have the audacity to be annoying?" you say, trying to keep your voice calm. You sit down on the bed to control the anger you didn't know you hoarded seething quietly inside you.

_"I'm sorry, Bree,"_ and her voice is suddenly weary. _"I...I can explain everything, but first, I'm sorry. Please listen –"_

"No. You listen, Chloe Beale, and you listen well, because I am only going to say this once." You blurt out the words before you can think, and you just as easily say the next sentence before the words make sense in your head. "I want Beca."

And then there's silence.

This is the first time you admitted it out loud, and you were kind of hoping for _I don't know,_ _fireworks maybe?_ But instead there's fear and a very odd sense of humiliation – because you're finally able to say that the biggest cliché of your life is falling for your best friend's girlfriend. Whom you used to hate to bits. And whom you joyfully tortured with more cardio than the rest of Fat Amy and the other Bellas combined.

And then there's the hard-to-keep, but totally sound promise to yourself that you broke. _So much for taking my lousy feelings to my grave._

The silence stretches out to a full minute, and it only serves to increase your feeling of being underwater.

Finally Chloe responds, in a voice devoid of emotion. _"Why?"_

"Because I'm only human, that's fucking why! And now that you've traipsed off to John Hopkins without so much as a sayonara to me and to your morbidly hopeless girlfriend, let me tell you this too, Chloe: I fully intend to steal her away from you. You had someone so beautiful and so fucking perfect and I've wanted her for the longest fucking time. And yet here you are, blue-eyed and red-haired and dumb and throwing it all away with your open relationship shtick instead of just sticking a ring in her finger or something –"

You're not sure when your voice started rising, but your hands are now balled into fists and you have this manic urge to throw things. Chloe interrupts your tirade.

_"Do you even know what you're saying?"_ Chloe says, now sounding clearly incredulous. The boiling anger in you only increases its fury upon her childish words _. "You can't just steal Beca from me."_

"Of course I can. I'm Aubrey fucking Posen, bitch. I fucking succeed."

A dull thud makes you turn swiftly to the doorway. A brunette was scrambling to pick up her own phone. You'd know those boots and that attractively-unruly hair anywhere _. Beca._

"How long have you been standing there?" you ask in your fiercest tone, although your insides are wildly churning around in panic and uncertainty. First, you're addressing her in your bra and panties and nothing else. Second and most importantly, _She knows she knows she knows she knows_ –

Beca looks at you for what felt like an eternity (which, in retrospect, lasted only about thirty seconds). She's holding her phone in a crushing grip, her knuckles white, her face a shocked, blank slate.

Before you can say anything, though, she backs off towards the door and runs out.


	8. Chapter 8

"Aubrey Posen sp –"

_"Aubrey, hey."_

"Jesse?" You're already pacing back and forth, struck wordless with astonishment upon seeing Beca's name on your phone, and even more astonished at the voice that greets you. "When did you get back from Nashville? And why are you calling me with Beca's phone?"

 _"You never answer when I use my own,"_ Jesse replies accusatorily. _"Stacie and I have been calling you for days."_

You get even more worried. "Why? Did something happen to –" you catch yourself at the last minute, biting back a certain brunette's name on your lips – "the, uh, apartment?"

 _"Look, I know you're dying to ask about Beca. Otherwise you wouldn't have answered this."_ Jesse clears his throat. _"This is about her. It's been a madhouse in your apartment lately."_

You hear Stacie's voice in the background. _"Is that Aubrey?"_ Jesse grunts and hands the phone to the tall girl. " _Aubrey, when are you coming back? We have the feeling Beca's doing this because of you."_

"I don't know what you heard, Stacie, but I haven't done anything to Beca." _At least, not intentionally._

_"And that's the problem right there. Beca won't tell us anything. But she's been on too many drinking sprees and crazy stuff, and it's getting a little...alarming. We've been doing our best to keep an eye on her. But sometimes even Jesse can't catch up."_

You stay quiet for a long time, unsure what to say, until Stacie finally breaks the silence. _"It might not even be about you. But Beca thinks highly of you, Aubrey. You roughed through Chloe's departure together. She trusts you and she'll talk to you."_

You shake your head. "Beca only listens to Chloe."

" _That's not true. And Chloe is our last resort – Beca specifically said not to bother her. Aubrey, you've been gone four days. Where are you anyway?"_ Stacie's tone was pleading. _"Jesse and I can pick you up."_

"I don't think so." You look at your suitcase, tucked neatly beside the nightstand. "I'm in Baltimore."

* * *

_Four days ago_

"I'll call you back," is what you only say to Chloe before rushing out to the kitchen, desperately emptying the contents of your stomach into the sink. You wash up and bury your face in your hands, still replaying Beca's exit in your mind.

The moment you hear Stacie and Fat Amy's cars leaving (you distinctly hear Beca telling them the two of you weren't coming) you go back to your room, dig out your smallest suitcase from under the bed, and systematically pack a week's worth of clothes. You spend the next hour on your laptop. You make a couple of phone calls and print some papers. You pull out the purse you particularly use for traveling and double-check its contents before tossing it next to your suitcase.

Ten minutes later you're starting the engine of your Prius. The apartment is quiet when you walk out, Beca having locked herself in Chloe's room. Halfway to the airport you give in to the awful guilt plaguing you. You pull into the nearest safe-looking parking lot and call Stacie.

 _"Aubrey!"_ You assume she's still at the Treblemakers' party, judging by the thumping bass in the background. _"Ha, they all come to Stacie Conrad in the end."_

You chuckle dryly, some of the tension leaving your body. "Keep dreaming, Stacie."

_"I will. And you'll be naked in them every time."_

"Jesus."

 _"No biting reprimands today, I see,"_ Stacie notes, her voice immediately changing from playfully seductive to serious. _"Are you okay?"_

"No. There's something urgent I have to do. I'll be gone for a few days," you say. "Can you keep an eye on Beca?"

Stacie's immediately up to the task, asking no questions. _"Of course,"_ she answers, concern clear in her voice. _"I hope everything goes well for you. We can feed Beca beer, right?"_

"Suit yourself. Thanks, Stacie."

* * *

_Present_

And so here you are in Baltimore, four days after your French exit. You check in at the first hotel your kindly cabbie recommended. You coop up in your room the first few days. You ignore all calls and messages because none of them came from Beca and Chloe, the two people who have unconsciously snared you into the trap of caring for someone other than yourself.

You lounge on the bed channel-surfing, too drained to open the blinds or the lights. You order room service but barely eat. Your phone rings and it's either Jesse or Stacie. You throw the phone across the room and puke clear bile on the sink.

The third afternoon you finally go out and buy an armful of novels, nervously looking around because suddenly your worst fear next to vomiting in public would be to see a vivacious, inevitable (in your thoughts, at least) blue-eyed redhead in the street. You chortle at the irony of going to Baltimore just to avoid Chloe Beale. _Grand Canyon or Hawaii would have been nice this time of the year,_ you muse. _More and more it seems like my id is taking over_. You brush your Freudian thoughts aside and try to spend your time reading Hemingway and Miller instead, quietly gathering your wits.

You're almost doing okay this afternoon. You ate a plate of risotto and took a long shower. You were reading _Sexus_ in bed when your phone rang. For some reason it wasn't broken after your fit of anger two days ago, lying behind the television. You retrieved it and your heart skipped a beat upon seeing Beca's name onscreen. It's enough to make your resolve slowly but surely fade away.

If it had really been Beca, you might have gone insane.

Your phone rings again, five minutes after hanging up on Jesse. This time you don't even glance at the screen, already knowing who it is. "Aubrey Posen –"

 _"Bree,"_ Chloe interrupts, and her voice is surprisingly gentle, soothing. _"Jesse called me. Where are you?"_

"Marriot Waterfront."

_"Okay. Can we have dinner? I can meet you in two hours."_

You don't know what you were thinking when you bought that last-minute ticket to Baltimore. But as you feel the last of your rationality slipping away, you decide that it's the worst idea ever. "Chloe, I don't think..."

 _"Please?"_ You could almost see Chloe pouting.

"I don't...I don't know what to say."

_"Then don't say anything. I just want to see you, Bree. We don't have to talk. Please?"_

You glance at your wristwatch. Six p.m. You have two hours to prepare your spiel.

"Fine. But I mean it, Chloe, I don't know what to tell you."

 _"'It's fine. But 'I love you' would be nice,"_ Chloe replies, rather casually _. "I love you, Bree."_

She says it without malice – with very pure intent, in fact – that you couldn't help but feel guiltier about Beca. "I know. I love you too."

* * *

By the time Chloe meets you in the bar near your hotel, you've downed numerous shots of your favorite liquid courage – tequila.

And you've also filled eight pages of a yellow legal pad with writing that increasingly grew more erratic the longer you hunched on your barstool.

Someone taps your shoulder while you're staring moodily at your glass. You turn around and there's Chloe – red-haired, blue-eyed, wearing that frank smile you missed seeing. You immediately take note of how skinny she'd become. Her hair is less sleek and curly than usual, a sure sign she'd been neglecting to style it as of late. You make a mental note to tell Beca before you remember why you're here.

You realize you've been staring at Chloe for a full minute, and you stand so fast you almost stumble. But Chloe takes your arm to keep you steady, pulls you towards her, and holds you close with a loud sigh.

You resign yourself completely in her arms, hugging her back and drawing her impossibly closer.

"I missed you," Chloe breathes out somewhere in the nape of your neck. "I missed you so much."

You only nod, because there's suddenly a lump in your throat that could only be caused by an equal mix of nerves and guilt and – strangely – an _overwhelming_ sense of devotion for this ginger clutching you tightly. You stifle a sob and inhale a lungful of Chloe's heady lavender scent.

Chloe smells something else. "Liquid courage?" she asks, releasing you with a frown. She knows perfectly well that you drink tequila only during extreme situations. You desperately try to pull her towards you again, but she firmly holds your shoulders. "This is so _not_ how I envisioned seeing you again, Bree."

The bartender who has been watching you worriedly for the past hour saunters over. "Figures that you two are friends," he says to Chloe with a grin. "You're the only two ladies I've met who can out-drink me."

"Shut up, Cole," Chloe says, flashing the guy a half-smile. She turns to you. "I've been drinking here since I arrived in Baltimore," she explains. You notice how her smile is a little hesitant, her eyes guarded and cheerless as she recalls her first few days in the new you and Beca were trying to hold on to some semblance of faith back in Atlanta, Chloe was fighting the worst kind of hell – the hell of being alone, knowing nobody and knowing you can't turn back to your previous life because you ran away in the first place. "By the fourth afternoon Cole already had my drink list memorized."

"Draft beer, rum and coke, and then scotch on the rocks when you're weeping like crazy?" Cole shakes his head. "That's not very hard, Chloe. Except on your liver."

You merely look at Chloe, too light-headed to reprimand her even when you know you should. But Chloe only puts an arm around you. "I don't think you'll get through dinner." She leaves some twenties on the bar and starts leading you out, and you remember to grab your legal pad before she steers you towards your hotel.

Once the two of you are in your hotel room, seated beside each other on the bed without actually touching, Chloe speaks.

"Bree, I know I said we don't have to talk, but you could at least show me you remember my name."

You haven't spoken one word since meeting her. You meet her anxious blue eyes. Why she's so tense, even when both of you know you're at fault, is beyond you. "Chloe..."

"Yay, you do remember me!" Chloe must have seen a change in your expression, because she finally leans – albeit hesitantly – on your shoulder. It obviously took her a huge amount of effort to restrict her touchy-feeliness, and there's a pang inside you because even when she has all the right to be angry, Chloe's still putting your feelings first.

"Chloe." Your voice catches from the amount of tequila you had, and you try again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean what I said about stealing Beca away from you. You're my best friend, and it would go against my personal code of honor to do such a thing."

She laughs, not moving from her position, the sound hollow in your ear. "Right."

"You don't sound convinced."

"Well, convince me."

You straighten the yellow papers still grasped tightly in your hand, and read them in the steadiest voice you can manage.

"First, I am a person of my word. I have proven this to you within a span of almost five years of friendship. Second, there's Major James Alastair Posen, who will surely find Beca unfit for me. Third, there's the pressing issue of Beca being in love with _you_. This leads us to my fourth point – that hence, pursuing Beca would be ridiculous, not to mention futile. Fifth, going after Beca will be a blow to my reputation I can never recover from. It will cement my image as a heartless bitch, who had the guts to steal Beca away from you. People will surely sympathize with you, given that everybody loves you. Sixth, because everybody loves you, they will go to lengths to protect you. And it will most likely involve hurting me. Which is something people do on a regular basis, only the backlash would be much worse and I particularly fear Lilly's retribution. Seventh –"

Chloe finally stirs, but only to knock your papers to the carpet.

"Fine, Aubrey. You've given this so much thought."

You hold back the protest you're longing to utter, instead waiting for her to go on.

"So now that you've established you're never going after Beca...what if Beca pursues you?"

You shake your head disbelievingly, and Chloe straightens to face you. "What the hell, Chloe? Don't you trust Beca?"

"I do," Chloe says simply. "But I'm posing a hypothetical question."

You say nothing, because nothing in this world would make Beca think you're better than your best friend.

"Bree."Chloe's expression is strangely placid, which you couldn't understand, because the only logical reaction in this kind of situation is to freak out.

"No! It's not going to happen, even in my dreams. Beca is my parallel line. I will always seek her out, and we will always be side-by-side, but we'll never meet. I have already accepted that."

"Have you?" Chloe's eyes stare intently into yours. Her perceptiveness has always been one of her best characteristics, but you hate it so much right now.

"Well..." You finally throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender. "No."

Chloe reaches over and picks up your papers, then stretches out on her back, reading the pages one by one. You feel your face getting red. But you stay on your spot at the edge of the bed, looking anywhere but at her.

After a long while, the bed shifts. Chloe's suddenly behind you. She wraps you in her arms and gently maneuvers you until you're both lying side-by-side on the bed, facing each other.

You're not aware what expression you're wearing – in all honesty, you barely care in your almost-inebriated state – but it's hard to escape the sly, oddly hopeful smile Chloe is wearing.

"Bree." She holds out a hand to stroke your cheek, and you close your eyes and lean into the touch, immediately sighing at the contact. This is the Chloe that you know – the one who always had to be touching you. "Are you aware that you wrote 1,216 justifications why you and Beca can't be together?"

You frown but refrain from opening your eyes. "Yes."

"Well, are you aware that you wrote _this_?"

You finally open your eyes. Chloe's brandishing one of the papers in front of you. You follow where her index finger is pointing and feel your face turn even redder. It read, _89\. I love you._

Chloe flips to another page, points out another item, and then goes on to the next page. And the next page. And the next after that.

_146\. I miss you so much. Too much, sometimes._

_214\. I think of you and Beca at an equal and such an alarmingly high rate._

_373\. When I think of being with Beca I immediately and reflexively think of being with you._

_482\. I will never do anything to lose you._

_611\. I love you. I mentioned this back there somewhere, but it needs reiteration. I love you._

You look back at Chloe, speechless. Her secretive smile has turned even more radiant in the interim, like she had the key to all the questions running through your mind.

"That's just the first four pages, Bree. I haven't even showed you the rest," she comments, seeing your apparently-bewildered expression. "You do remember writing these, right?"

You shake your head a fraction of an inch, disarmed by that glint appearing in her eye – the same glint you saw right before you panicked, called Stacie, and started your stupid fuckfest a month ago.

"But you wrote this?"

You close your eyes and nod yes. It's definitely in your neat handwriting, although you couldn't recall how your mind drifted _there –_ to that place where you were hiding all your inappropriate feelings for people you couldn't bear to lose. _Fucking A, Aubrey. First you declare you want Beca and now you're writing little love notes to Chloe. There's no winning this keep-your-shit-to-yourself thing._

Chloe's mild chuckle shakes you out of your thoughts.

"Apparently someone's subconscious is smitten with me."

You open your eyes, expecting Chloe's face to be mocking, judgmental, or – even worse – indifferent. But as usual, Chloe never fails to amaze you. She's beaming – actually _beaming_ , the kind that she does when she's about to get affectionate – and it's one of your most favorite sights in the world, more than sunsets and old cathedrals and anything else.

"This is not just some dumb infatuation, Chloe," you finally breathe out. Chloe's so close you could count the long, delicate lashes framing her cerulean eyes. You've always known Chloe to be beautiful, but at this close proximity she's even more breathtaking it makes your chest hurt. Or maybe it's your heart banging wildly against your ribs. Either way, Chloe is the cause.

"I know," Chloe says quietly. She shifts her hand from stroking your cheek to cupping your chin. "And you should know better than fight this, Bree."

That smile again. It's sending you through the most complex of feelings – bold and nervous and thrilled and breathless and just... _I feel like I'm on fire._ And there's only one inevitable thing that can douse the flame.

You close the exasperatingly wide gap between you and Chloe, and the moment your lips touch you instantly know you were, for once in your life, mistaken. For the sensations coursing through you only serve to fan the flames; when Chloe finally responds, with a little sigh, the fire becomes pleasurable all at once.

No power, no passion, would compare to this kiss.

There's a dull, haunting ringing in your ears that just makes you clutch Chloe closer to your body. You're barely aware of holding on to her, wrapping her possessively in one arm while your hand reaches out behind her graceful neck. Chloe can drag you away right here, right now, to anywhere she pleases and you'd barely care because her lips promise mystery and freedom and all those wild, scary things in your life you've always wanted to do but never had the courage for.

The kiss ends too soon and it takes all of your willpower not to cry at the loss of contact. Chloe opens her eyes and there's a new clarity in them – one that you only saw once before, when she told you that she and Beca are finally together. But the kiss, for you, does the opposite. It confuses you. It makes you question things. Like how every other kiss you've had before it pales in comparison. Like how you suddenly realize you've wanted to kiss Chloe for a long time. Like how you just crossed some sort of barrier – an entire fucking sea, even – and this girl is waiting on the other end. And you can't imagine living the rest of your life without her.

But you're mostly bothered because you remember you want Beca as well. You want to make out with her in the couch, walk hand-in-hand with her in the street, make her breakfast. And yet within the span of ten minutes, your body has activated this hunger for Chloe that would never go away ever again.

"I don't...I don't know what I'm doing," you finally say.

Chloe only shakes her head. "We don't have to talk about this tonight, Bree. You're not exactly sober. Let's do this tomorrow, 'kay?"

You nod quietly, and she pulls you to snuggle against her, your head on her chest.

"Whatever is it we figure out, remember that I love you."

You tilt your head to face her, the sweetest person you've ever known, and you could only manage another nod.

* * *

You wake up to the familiar scent of lavenders and the feeling that you can never ever leave Chloe's arms. Even in sleep the redhead clung to you fiercely, her hands pulling you to her body, spooning you comfortably. You slowly turn around to face her. Chloe's breathtaking. And, as of six in the morning, you have her all by yourself.

You luxuriate in her presence, in the way she slept, the quiet rise and fall of her chest, her lips slightly apart in that alluring way only Chloe Beale effortlessly does. The moment your eyes rest on her lips, you know you've made a fatal mistake. Your heart is throbbing painfully just thinking of the way they felt against yours. You've never felt like you have no choice until this moment – a Posen must always have a backup plan – until Chloe took you to cross this gulf, and for once in your life, you can never go back.

You have to taste her lips. Now.

You take Chloe's face gently in your hands, careful not to wake her, and inch forward. Somewhere in your mind is a faint voice shouting _this is bad. This is me losing control. This is me finally succumbing to an addiction. This is me on a downward spiral._ You close your eyes, barely even breathing, and then – contact.

This kind of high, you can never replace. What you meant to be a soft, quick peck quickly turns into hungry, prolonged kisses you can't manage to stop. Chloe stirs, her arms slightly tensing around you as she gathers her sleepy thoughts. Then she smiles and kisses you back, exploratory at first, and then increasing in fervor until you both have to stop out of prolonged breathlessness.

"What a lovely person to wake up to," Chloe purrs, pressing her forehead against yours.

You're suddenly ashamed of your brazen actions. "I'm sorry, I really couldn't help –"

But Chloe only holds a finger to your lips. "Don't. Don't ever apologize, because all I want to hear is that you want this as much as I do."

You're quiet for a moment. "Chloe, you know very well I can't want you. Everything my father doesn't approve of, I can never have."

A shadow passes over Chloe's face. "Like what?"

"Like that offer from Juilliard. That graduate student program in Japan. My mother's affection. Should I keep going? Because I am not losing you and Beca over something as petty as my feelings."

Chloe shakes her head. "Bree, your feelings always mattered so much to me."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you're reciprocating them –" and then it hits you, when Chloe's expressive eyes suddenly look frustrated, what she was trying to say. " _What?!_ But you have Beca! Why would my feelings matter this much to you? Are you kissing me just because –"

"You're over thinking this." Chloe laughs, and you just know it's because of the heated flush on your face. "You're worried because that kiss wasn't exactly how you envisioned our reunion would be. But it's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. I've always known you're inevitable."

It's her lackadaisical attitude that sets you off. "Why aren't you panicking about this? I am in love with your girlfriend, and for some twisted reason, I'm in love with you too. You're my best friend, Chloe! This is mind-fucking me in ways you couldn't even begin to imagine! And you – all you have to say is that I'm _inevitable?_ "

"Can you please calm down?"

The two of you are quiet for a while, with you breathing heavily, trying to control your gag reflex. Chloe watches you until she deems you're pacified enough to hear her out.

"This is scaring me too, and I hope that's enough for you," Chloe says quietly. "You know how I've loved you all this time. But then came Beca, and I thought being with her would make me the happiest girl in the world. And I am. Beca's wonderful. But somehow, I still see you. You were unhappy with Jesse, but you were trying so hard I didn't dare stop you. Then Jesse left and you went to pieces. Suddenly my blissful life with Beca isn't enough, because I had to see you happy as well. I don't know how to make this work, and I'm probably explaining this all wrong, but I can make you happy." Her eyes bear down on yours, and it takes all of your willpower to hold her gaze. "If I'm mistaken, say it straight to my face, Bree. Say it, and I'll drop this subject forever."

"I can't have two people at once. And neither can you. In the first place, I can't want a woman! I'm a Posen –"

"Aubrey Posen, do you love me?"

Chloe spits out the question so curtly, it sends shivers up your spine. You're suddenly drained of whatever pretense you were trying to keep. "Yes."

"Then stop making sorry excuses for yourself! You're a grown woman. You can't keep repressing your feelings unless you want to end up like your father." You cringe inwardly at the thought, and Chloe notices, because her expression softens and she starts caressing your arm with one hand. "Look, I know this is very confusing right now. But all I ask is this: please make a decision that isn't based on your family name, for once. I don't care when, or where it will lead, but promise me you'll really think about this. You are my person and I want nothing more than to see you happy. You never let opportunities slide. _This_ is an opportunity. Don't let this slide."

You nod wordlessly, filing the words safely in your mind for further consideration.

"And until you decide, don't breathe a word to Beca. I believe you love her as much as I do, so you know that despite her snarky attitude, it takes very little to make her run. Even after a year she still can't understand how people can love her. She'll panic, she'll shut herself away –"

"Beca knows." Just speaking her name makes your chest constrict again. "The day you called me...I didn't know she was there, and she heard everything."

Chloe sits up so fast you feel your own body bounce on the mattress by the movement. She looks at you with wide eyes. "Aubrey, why is this _not_ the first thing you told me when we met?! I _knew_ you didn't just come here out of the blue to see me!"

Confounded by her reaction, you only manage to blink, your hand gestures trying to make up for your loss of words. "I'm – I'm surprised Beca didn't tell you."

"Ever since I left Atlanta, Beca hasn't been telling me a lot of things. And I don't hold it against her, because I betrayed her. She will not be telling me things for a long time."

"But you're staying together. You must have promised her a happy ending. You – "

Chloe sighs. "Yes, but I've been her girlfriend for just a year, Aubrey. People have been leaving her all her life, and that's a long enough time for her to build walls around herself. I've barely even broken through half her defenses." She chuckles bitterly, the sound making you incredibly sad. "I left knowing she'll always love me, but that I risked losing what precious little trust she had. And I was right. Our reunion was both happy and miserable. She's affectionate one moment and guarded the next; it was hard to breathe around her. When I prodded, she cut me off. She's used to resolving everything on her own before she had me. And the past month, that's the only thing she's been doing."

You clear your throat. "She's...from what I've heard from Stacie, she's not resolving it very well."

"It's typical of Beca. She runs, she broods, she drinks and plays Nintendo all day, and she ignores what's in front of her until it goes away." Chloe returns to your side again and takes your hand in hers. "If Beca knows, this changes things. You love her. And I can't – I can't just let her run from you. I'll call her –"

"Chloe."

The ginger falls silent at your firm tone.

"I'm sorry to hear about you and Beca. But until I decide, I want you to stay out of whatever drama Beca and I are having –"

"Bree, you know very well you're not fixing anything with Beca if you stay here. You're now one of those people who left her too –"

" _She_ ran away from me!"

"Yes, but she didn't go all the way to Baltimore and lock herself in a dark hotel room for five days! Please listen to me." You couldn't bear to disappoint those pleading blue eyes, and so you heed her. "I left Beca, and we patched things up as well as we could, but we can't really move forward because we're too far apart. But you – you're underestimating how much Beca trusts you. You are perfectly capable of keeping her with you. But I have to see you try. Only then can I promise not to meddle."

You take a deep breath, carefully chewing over her words. But all you can think about is _I'm now one of those people who left._ There's a silence that follows, and you remember Jesse's phone call, and your world suddenly spins at the thought of Beca possibly pining for you. "Chloe, I – I left her. She'll never trust me again. And I'll never have a chance to show her how much I care. She –" you find yourself sobbing before you could finish the thought, and Chloe immediately embraces you, kissing the top of your head.

"Again, you're over thinking this, Bree."

You sniff in response, trying to control your blubbering.

"Beca may be a flight risk, but it doesn't mean she's not forgiving. If you return and apologize, you'll find that she'll give you more chances than you could ask for. Beca has very few people in her life. You're one of them – of us. And she'll fight tooth and nail to keep you. She just has to see you trying."

You finally manage keep your emotions in check. "I will not just try. I'm a Posen. I'll make this right."

" _We'll_ make this right." She breaks off from the hug to gently brush your tears away. "For the record, I'm sorry for leaving without explanation."

"I accept, and I'm sorry for – for being such a bitch." You barely restrain another sob, and Chloe smiles.

"Would a kiss make you feel better?"

You only let out a watery chuckle. But Chloe kisses you anyway, a light one in the lips that seemed all too brief.

"I want more," you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

"So do I, but we need to get breakfast," Chloe murmurs, tucking stray locks of hair behind your ear.

"No. I mean, can I – can I spend more time with you before I go back to Atlanta?"

At this, Chloe beams. "Bree, you never have to ask."


	9. Chapter 9

"Yesterday really happened, right?"

You look up from Chloe's shoulder, wondering if she really did speak. After all, the monotonous sounds in the airport lounge and the calming lavender scent of her henley shirt were lulling you to sleep. But Chloe's looking at you, her eyes glistening, and you quickly draw her to your chest.

"Of course." You firmly will yourself not to cry – you've been bawling during the entire drive to the airport.

Yesterday was nothing short of marvelous. The two of you had brunch, roamed Chloe's favorite haunts hand-in-hand, and ended up talking at your hotel room. On the surface nothing has changed. Chloe is still your best friend, the same old person who leaves you little notes on your books, who comforts you when you're unsure of yourself. But the two of you know everything has changed all at once. You hold each other a little more tightly. You lose yourself in each other's presence, in the other's eyes and smiles and stories. And you make little promises to each other. _We'll take Beca here when we come back. We'll go to the Fell's Point Fun Festival. We have to have a photo, the three of us, at this street._

You'd also have a hard time believing yesterday once you're back in Atlanta.

Never has any other person brought you so much contentment. It doesn't take Chloe much to make you happy, a fact you finally accept the moment you decided you're fine with this - _whatever this is_ \- that you have with her. You couldn't help but smile at the sound of her voice. Just the slightest touch of her fingertips has you bouncing in anticipation. Both of you agreed to hold off the kissing until you've decided anything, but it takes all of your restraint not to jump her bones right then and there.

Only the thought of Beca holds you back. You love both of them so much, too much. And whatever direction you're going to take, the last thing you want is to lead them on. Chloe immediately understood, even contributing by pulling back and calming you down whenever things got too steamy ( _which happened embarrassingly often,_ you muse wryly).

When you told Chloe you intended to go back to Atlanta the next day, her eyes reflected your dread of impending loneliness. But she wholeheartedly encouraged you to go. After all Beca is now, jointly, your top priority.

"I'll miss you," Chloe mumbles, her words muffled by the lapel of your blazer. "Let's never drift apart, okay?"

You close your eyes, inhale as much of the lavender in her hair as possible, and nod.

"Are you sure you don't want me to talk to Beca?"

You gently take her by her shoulders and look at those engaging blue eyes. "Chloe, I'm training to be a lawyer. I can handle this. Beca is as important to me as she is to you, and I'll keep her with us, okay?"

Chloe smiles and it's a welcome break from her anxious expression. "Of course you would. You're Aubrey fucking Posen."

You shake your head ruefully. "You'll never let me live that one down."

The call for boarding passengers fill the lounge and Chloe gives you one last hug, before brushing off the tears that had started flowing down your cheek. "Would a kiss make you feel better?"

"Always," you reply with a sniff, and Chloe eagerly obliges, her lips the best memory of Baltimore you'll ever have.

* * *

You land in Atlanta at ten in the morning and drive straight to the apartment. You send Chloe a quick text saying you got back safe, and sigh in relief upon spotting the cozy brick-red apartments of Peachtree Park.

The initial sense of relief, however, dissipates quickly when you turn the knob of the apartment door out of habit – and find it actually open. You walk into the hallway expecting to see someone at the couch, ready to start scolding whoever left the door open, but there's no one in sight – just an alarming number of empty containers of booze on the coffee table, which irks you almost immediately.

"Beca?"

You unlock your room door and lay your suitcase neatly on the bed before proceeding to the kitchen. Still nobody. You call out again, this time in a louder voice, proceeding to open the windows. The entire house feels stuffy and there's a dank, stale scent of cigarettes.

"Beca? Seriously, why are all the windows closed?"

There's a clunk somewhere and you follow the sound to the bathroom. Behind the closed door, you swear you can hear Beca's voice. You knock thrice, wait a while and push the door open – only to have your mouth fall open at the sight that greets you.

Beca, Stacie and Fat Amy were all huddled together in the bathtub, splashing water all over the floor. Beca's arguing something in her loudest voice while the two other girls giggle incessantly. You don't even know what to nitpick first. For starters, they barely noticed you were there – Fat Amy and Stacie were in their underwear, Stacie was groping her breasts while talking animatedly, Beca had all her clothes on in the tub, and the air was so hazy with smoke you end up coughing.

The sound finally calls their attention. Stacie, not missing a beat, grins hugely and rises. She barely takes a step before she's right in front of you, the bathroom being so tiny it's a wonder you could all breathe in the cramped space. "Aubrey! Oh my gosh, we missed you!" She closes the door behind you and, dripping wet, gives you a hug that lasts too long because she's grinding her breasts deliberately into your chest.

"Stacie!" you splutter. The tall brunette only laughs and releases you.

"Pleasure being re-acquainted with you, Captain." Stacie gives you one last wink before pulling you towards the tub. "Come on!" She slides back between Beca and Fat Amy, looking at you expectantly.

"There is no damn way I am getting in there."

Fortunately Fat Amy distracts her. The Aussie waves you over a little too exuberantly, upsetting the pizza box perched on the nearby sink. She only cackles and eats the pieces from the bathroom tiles, eliciting a sound of disgust from you and raucous laughter from Beca and Stacie.

"What? They've only been there for, like, two seconds! Germscums didn't have time to crawl over them, ya know. They're still shocked." Stacie and Beca laugh harder, while you take deep breaths, trying not to lose it. Fat Amy only shrugs. "You drongo aca-bitches. You'd be shocked out of your queer balls too if a giant slice of pizza fell out of nowhere!"

Beca's the first to recover, wiping tears from her eyes. "Never change, Fat Amy."

Fat Amy turns to you. "Heya, Blondie head honcho. Beca asked for our canny heirloom herbal remedy. It's what me mum recommends when my pet croc Freshie's under the weather –"

You hold out a hand to stop her, finally noticing an odd glass contraption Beca cradled in her arms. Fat Amy's 'heirloom herbal remedy' turns out to be weed – which Beca is currently smoking through a bong almost as big as her forearm. Beca blows out a couple of smoke rings, and Stacie and Fat Amy clap appreciatively.

You recover your wits at last. "Rebeca fucking Mitchell, _what the hell?!"_

Beca looks up at you with bloodshot eyes, her trademark smirk in place. "So Fancy-Pants Posen finally graces us with her presence. And I'm pretty sure that's not my middle name." She laughs at her own lousy joke, and Stacie and Fat Amy share in the merriment, guffawing. The three were obviously baked beyond reasonable doubt.

"The last thing I need is the fucking police! I am a law student, for crying out loud!" You step closer to Beca and try to pry the bong off her hands. But Beca merely shifts the bong to her other hand to evade the attempt and pulls at your outstretched hand hard enough. You lose your balance and fall forward into the tub, fully-dressed and all, banging your elbow painfully. At the last minute Beca reaches out to steady you and Fat Amy partly cushions your fall. The water's unpleasantly cold; your clothes are soaked within seconds.

"Fucking –!" you blink, trying to comprehend how you're suddenly in a crowded bathtub with three other people. You roll off Fat Amy and settle on the minute space between Stacie and Beca, pushing off everyone's limbs from your person. "Damn you, Beca! I could have bumped my head and _died!"_

Beca rolls her eyes in a way you'd swear was _affectionate,_ and it unsettles you that she isn't making you feel like you left in the middle of the night and didn't come back for days. "Well, Posen, you didn't. Overreacting much?" She hands you the bong, which you take gingerly into your hands, fully intending to chuck it out of the bathtub. Before you could do it, though, Beca swiftly takes the glass tube back.

"Dude, you're holding it wrong! You've never done this before, have you?" She takes your hand and positions it on the bulb end of the bong, then guides your other hand to rest on the neck.

"Did it occur to you that I was holding it wrong because I wanted to smash it?" you mutter, trying to conceal your surprise at Beca's nonchalance.

"So I light up this thing, and you inhale through the mouthpiece while I do that, okay?" Beca continues, oblivious to your sarcasm. The two of you are huddled so close you could see the abnormally-blown pupils of her slate-blue eyes. "You ready?"

"I am not doing this," you say firmly, but the three other girls just snicker to your consternation. "What the hell is so funny?!"

"You're hot when you're angry," Beca blurts out, trying to keep her face straight to no avail.

Stacie hoots loudly. "I was thinking the exact same thing, short stack!" Her hand snakes over your arm and gives your left breast a squeeze. You almost drop the bong in shock.

"Watch it, Conrad!" Beca's laughing, but she's kicking Stacie away towards Fat Amy.

"Shit, I am handsy when I'm baked," Stacie shakes her head ruefully. "Sorry, Aubrey. Had to risk it. Like she said, you're hot when you're mad. "

"I take back what I said," Beca suddenly declares, and your heart sinks. But then she reaches out to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, and her next words stun you. "Aubrey's lovely every fucking time."

"Alright you twig bitches, you're giving Captain Blonde too much credit," Fat Amy complains good-naturedly. "I don't see the appeal, but maybe I've just never munched a fanny, eh?"

Stacie rounds on Fat Amy, her gray eyes round. "Oh my gosh, Fat Amy – I can't believe you're my roommate and we've never hooked up ever!"

There's a three-second silence where Fat Amy only gapes at Stacie, Beca grins stupidly and you try to recover from the brunette's unexpected compliment. The next moment Stacie and Fat Amy simultaneously grab each other, kissing sloppily.

"Gross!" you couldn't help but snap, while Beca doubles over in glee. But the two were oblivious to your objections – Stacie's hands were already slipping down Fat Amy's back. "Okay, if you're serious about this, can you at least not put on a fucking show?!"

Fat Amy finally surfaces, blinking lustily at Stacie. "I can't execute my moves in this bathtub. Let's take this somewhere else."

Stacie nods and climbs out of the water. "Aubrey's rug," she answers, and you face-palm in hopeless defeat. "Comfiest shit I've ever laid on."

Before you could say another word the two of them are stumbling out the door. You turn back to Beca, who only shrugs, takes back the bong, and lights up the bowl. You watch her with an odd sense of fascination. The way her nimble fingers pull out the bowl, the way her chiseled jaw line becomes more prominent as she sucks in smoke...she suddenly starts coughing mercilessly and you rub her back, trying to soothe her.

"I think you've had enough," you say firmly, pulling away the bong and placing it on the floor. "Stay here. I'm getting you –"

"Nope, Aubrey fucking Posen, you're not going anywhere."

You freeze, already having stepped out of the tub, and look back. Beca's looking straight at you, her mouth already curling into her classic smirk. And you suddenly feel that you're not ready for this – this person, this conversation – whichever it would be. "I'll just...I'll just get some water," you reply lamely, pointing towards the door, avoiding her gaze.

Beca's smirking and shaking her head slowly at the same time. "Not in Baltimore, I hope?"

"N-no." _You're stammering, Aubrey? Really?_

Beca stretches her legs, moving her body to occupy the entire tub. She splashes water haphazardly in your general direction and you flinch, clenching your fists to stop yourself from yelling at her right then and there. "Plenty of water here, m'lady. Come sit."

You feel your throat going dry at her words, and now it's you who needs water. "I'd...I'd rather not."

She only exhales, the sound middling on disbelief and amusement. "'I'd – I'd rather not'? Aubrey, if I didn't know any better, I'd say I'm _flustering_ you." Her eyes turn ice-cold and her expression morphs from mocking to hard. The abrupt change was so frightening you actually take a step back. "Get...in...here."

Swallowing, you wordlessly get in the tub, sitting across her and drawing your knees towards your chest. You straighten your spine and struggle to gather your wits, determined not to have Beca see you in another moment of weakness. There's no way this midget is intimidating you ever again. "Now what?"

"Now you listen to me tell you you're a manipulative bitch."

"Great opener," you answer evenly, despite the bile threatening to rise from your throat.

"You know why I came by your room that night?" Beca continues in the same quietly seething tone, oblivious to your sarcasm. "To ask if I could live with you! Thank God I heard you being such a bitch to Chloe. Otherwise I would've walked right into your trap of me trusting you and you – you screwing that up right into my face!"

The words hurt so much you're on your most defensive stance before you know it. "I never tried to deceive you."

"Then why are you acting like this?" Beca raises her voice in vexation, and you try not to shy away. "You hate me! Then suddenly you're following me around, taking care of me, making things possible. And then I walk in on you saying you want me. You used to treat me like dirt under your shoe and now you want me?! That's just fucking impossible, Aubrey! What do you really want?"

"Nothing! Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have some dark ulterior motive!"

"Well, I find that hard to believe! Am I just supposed to accept that the calculating, controlling Aubrey Posen wants me? In what fucking universe does that even happen?"

"Here!"

Beca's eyes glitter dangerously as she processes your answer. "You can't be serious about this."

"I brought home a girl who looks just like you, so no, I'm definitely not serious." Your eyes are stinging and you belatedly realize the wet spots on your cheeks aren't just from splashing around in the tub. You manage to get a grip on yourself. "You think this is all some scheme to me, Beca? You have no idea how often I've wished you were Jesse, or how often I've had to turn away when Chloe's in the room and she's all you see!"

At this, Beca's jaw actually drops. "Are you actually saying you and Jesse broke up because of _me_?"

"Oh wow, you finally caught on!" You spit the words out bitterly before breaking down. But instead of uncontrollable sobbing or the usual puke fest, you find yourself unable to breathe. _Must be the cramped surroundings,_ you note in a distant place in your mind, before griping terror starts to take hold of you. The air is too thin. You're going to suffocate. "You have no idea – you don't – you –"

Even across you, Beca notes the change in your breathing. "Aubrey?" By her alarmed tone you dimly recognize what's happening: a panic attack. The knowledge only serves to worsen it – you're suddenly sobbing and inhaling sharply and choking at the same time.

"I didn't mean to," you gasp out, the words coming out in a gurgle. You grip the edges of the tub on your either side for support. "I didn't – I couldn't – "

Beca's snapping her fingers in your face, but you don't hear anything. You only see her face, her lips distinctly forming your name. _Aubrey_. And yet there's this vacuum where you're trapped, chest heaving painfully, closed off to whatever went on outside. She scrambles forward and you vaguely register being taken into her arms. It doesn't make a difference; your vision's blurring and you're stone-cold, deeply disturbed, yet unable to move.

"Alright, relax." The voice sounds like a million miles away, but it's surprisingly gentle and so endearingly _Beca_ your troubled mind picks it up immediately. "You'll be fine –" her voice turns muted, although you know she's still speaking from the way her lips tickle your forehead, "– I've got you."

"No – you're – you're going – going to –"

There are vague movements in your peripheral vision, and then something's being pushed in your hand. A paper bag. "Here. Slow, deep breaths. Come on, Bree."

You blindly nudge the paper bag towards your face. _Inhale. Exhale._ Little by little – the longest fifteen minutes of your life – the surroundings become familiar: the icy ceramic against your thigh, the quiet gurgle of water, the warm hand rubbing up and down your bicep. The unmistakable, all-too-exciting scent of vanilla and berries.

"Get off me." You pull away, retreating towards the other side of the tub, and Beca releases you reluctantly. She watches you lie back and submerge yourself, keeping your head above the water.

"Are you okay now?" She's hesitant, all previous traces of anger gone.

"Why? So you can give me another panic attack?"

"No. I'm sorry. I really didn't mean..." Beca leans forward, but moves no further when you flinch and press back against the tub in response. "I've never seen this happen to you before."

"Brought you so much fucking joy, didn't it?"

Beca scratches her earlobe. "It, uh, it was distressing to watch. Suddenly your stress-vomiting looked pretty tame. I could only guess how terrible an experience it must be. I'm sorry."

"That's very fucking understanding of you. You suck at comforting people!"

"Well, you suck at –!" Beca drops her suddenly-too-aggressive voice, blinking. When she speaks again, it's in a lower, slightly dejected tone. "Okay. I can't really think of anything –"

"Good. Because I can think of _a lot_ of things wrong with you!" You speak over her mild voice, although you could only coax a taut, harsh rasp out of your drained body. "When you walked into my life I was determined to hate you."

Beca lets out an exasperated sigh, exactly like the one you do when she's driving you up the wall, and the action brings you a renewed sense of fury. "You just had a panic attack. Calm down, alright?"

"Calm down?!" You try to inject every ounce of anger into the words. "Calm down after what you just did? You're right, I should hate you! Scratch that – I hate you! I hate your sardonic smirk, like you're a cut above the rest. I hate that your innocuously phony compliments make my toes curl. I hate that you're so apathetic! And dense! And so effortlessly maddening! I hate that it only takes a smirk from you to break my resolve! I hate how you can reduce me to a stuttering mess when you feel like it! I hate you, and I can't decide whether I want to fuck you or murder you, but I hate you!"

By the end of it you've worked up so much energy you're practically screaming. Beca, however, only looks at you, face devoid of any fight.

"I was hoping it wasn't true. But it is, and now I'm supposed to avoid you."

Radio silence. Somewhere in the middle of your enraged tirade, Beca finally understood: you want her. For real. And her first idea after truly realizing it consists of running. _And it fucking hurts._

"We should stop hanging out."

"W-what?" You hear the tremor in your voice and instantly hate yourself for it – you sound so vulnerable, so _pathetic_. But Beca only gives you a dismal, almost-rueful half-smile, one so different from her usual confident smirk. And somehow you're back to a dining table in Vermont, listening to your father yelling about how dumb you are to even go to college because you're not a man and you'll be a disappointment anyway. Watching your mother out of the corner of your eye, smelling the alcoholic fumes of stale bourbon on her breath. _A Posen's life is never okay._

"Chloe and I aren't in a good place right now, and being around you might just push things further in the wrong direction. And trust me, Bree, it could go wrong. Chloe's fantastic. I love her. But you're also really intelligent, not to mention beautiful. If the three of us stay around each other, someone's bound to get jealous or hurt and –"

"Now that's...that's just ridiculous."

You look at her, wide-eyed, suddenly apologetic for interrupting. To your surprise, though, Beca only stares blankly at you, and gradually breaks out into a big grin.

"I know, right?" Beca's starting to laugh, belly chuckles that you only hear whenever Chloe does something she found unexpectedly amusing. Her blue-grey eyes are sparkling and her clouded expression is gone, replaced by pleasure about something you have yet to comprehend _._ "What I've been saying is a bunch of _bollocks!_ We can never stop hanging out, Bree. You've always been there for me. I'm not turning my back on you just because you find me insanely attractive."

You feel your jaw drop. "You're fucking bipolar."

"Yeah, learned from this girl who says she likes me one moment and then says she hates me the next." The smirk is back, and even in your confused mind it's still one of the sexiest things you've ever seen. "Look. You went to Baltimore and I'm pretty sure Chloe wouldn't have let you leave without talking to you. Did she expressly say you have to keep your distance from me?"

_Oh, you have no idea._ "No."

"I'm betting she said we should keep an eye out for each other or something."

_Oh, you do have a vague idea._ "Something along those lines, yes."

"When you arrived earlier I was really angry at you. And I was really intent not to have you around, because it might just put more strain on me and Chloe. So I was telling you this stupid speech, and..." Beca drops the smirk, looking thoughtful. "I realized I was worrying about something absurd. I hated what I was doing, just telling you to get out of my life like that. Because I'd rather drop this. And I couldn't be luckier that Chloe's secure enough in her relationship with the two of us –"

"You're saying we could just forget this ever happened."

Beca nods seriously. "We should. I'm...I'm flattered. That such a wonderful chick like you would ever want me. You're one of the best people I know and Chloe and I love you. But before this, we were really great friends. I don't want to lose that. I'd...I'd rather not."

You ponder her words carefully, somehow feeling you're missing something. "What do you mean, you'd rather not?"

Beca regards you for a long while, and then finally closes her eyes. "I've been thinking. Since you left. I thought..." she shakes her head. "I'm no good at this feelings thing, Aubrey. None of us are."

You wait for her to say more, but Beca is apparently done talking; she opens her eyes and stares at you solemnly, treading water in her hands for the longest time. You watch her warily from your end of the tub, simply savoring the sight even if it was the wrong time and wrong place – her hair, the slope of her shoulders, her red flannel shirt, her lips, her eyes a few hues darker than Chloe's. Within the past year your favorite color has changed from green to two shades of blue: the blue of sunny skies and the blue of stormy ones.

And you realize you can never, ever, just put away your completely irrational toner for Beca Mitchell.

"You're right. We should just put all this behind us."

Relief floods Beca's face almost immediately. She holds out a hand towards you, and you take it tentatively, unsure of what she's up to now. But she only rises and pulls you up until the two of you are standing in the tub, facing each other.

"Good," she says, almost a whisper, as the corners of her mouth start to form a smile. "I was a dick earlier. I'm sorry."

You nod, acutely aware of her hand still gripping yours, warm and reassuring. "I left without explanation for almost a week, so I guess I was a dick way before you were."

"Yeah, well, about that." Her smile disappears, to be replaced by a disapproving look. "As your friend, I have to tell you: That was stupid of you."

"For your information, _bitch_ , it was you who ran away first –!"

Beca calmly holds up her other hand before you could continue with your hotheaded argument. "Nope! No more excuses." She tugs at your hand, forcing you to look into her eyes. "I won't run if you won't. Just tell me you'll do the same. Because I'm not sure I can still handle being left just like that one more time."

You hold her gaze steadily, although all you really wanted to do at the moment was to hug her for the sad, brutal honesty of her last sentence. She didn't have to say it or show it: she was devastated when you left. And all you can think of, in the middle of this tub with one Beca Mitchell holding your hand like you mattered so much, is that you have an entire lifetime ahead of you to make up for it.

"Then I won't run."


	10. Chapter 10

_"What?!"_

You grimace, hold the phone away from your ear, and decide to put it on speaker instead. After all, Chloe just proved she can still hit high notes despite the nodes surgery. You were recounting the bathtub conversation a day later, and had just finished telling her about the part where Beca asked you to just forget everything that ever happened.

 _"She practically asked you if you could just forget your feelings for her!"_ Chloe's shrieking on the other end. " _Aubrey Ren_ _é_ _e Posen, tell me you said no!"_

"..."

_"What about the 'I'm-a-Posen-I-refuse-to-back-down-just-trust-me-on-this' line of reasoning?"_

"I don't think my insignificant surname would have accomplished anything here."

 _"Oh, Bree,"_ Chloe coos, quickly picking up on your carefully neutral tone. _"You're distressed."_

"I'm not. Nothing has changed. It's all for the best."

_"Aubrey."_

"She doesn't believe it's worth pursuing. Maybe she's right. Why mess up a perfectly good thing?"

 _"Beca just needs more time to process,"_ Chloe consoles. _"She sounded tired when she called last night. We did put her in a difficult position, Bree."_

"I know, but...wait, she called you? Did she tell you about our conversation?"

Chloe's sigh is audible. _"No. Said she just wanted to hear my voice."_

"See? She doesn't have to process anything. You're simply all she ever wants."

_"No, she just doesn't realize what she's missing. Bree, no matter how you try to sound indifferent about this, I know you're unhappy. But it doesn't mean – "_

"Do you really have to point out how I feel again and again?" you snap involuntarily. You slump face-forward onto your bed, carelessly casting off your sweaty running clothes until you're lying in your underwear. "I am extremely discouraged, not to mention wallowing in self-pity. Happy? I've never wanted anyone this bad and of course I get rejected because that's how my life always goes –"

"Really, Posen? _Twice?_ "

You instantly roll over to face the new voice. The source is leaning into the door frame, folding her arms with her usual smirk, staring unabashedly at you.

"Beca, my face is up here."

"Right." Her amused blue-grey eyes flicker to meet yours. "Is this a fetish thing? Talking on your phone while wearing lingerie?"

"It is not my fault you don't know this very popular, widely accepted practice called _knocking_."

"It's not my fault you always leave the door wide open." Beca looks at your desk clock. "Isn't it too early in the morning to get your freak on?"

"Aca-scuse me, I was not about to – look, this is my room and I can lounge in my underwear whenever I please!"

 _"Oh no, my two favorite people in the world are bickering again,"_ Chloe says from your phone, clearly more bubbly than she should be. _"Like a married couple, you know? Morning, baby tiger!"_

A pleased smile momentarily appears on Beca's face, although she quickly masks it with a faux disgusted expression. "For the last time, Chlo, none of this baby tiger shit for me."

 _"But you just answered to it!"_ Chloe replies and you can just imagine her bouncing on her toes. _"Argh, I have to go prepare for orientation. I'll call you later, Bree. Love you both!"_ The call ends with a beep.

You pull your bed sheets to cover yourself and look back at Beca. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I'm out of underwear and I came to see if you could lend me some –"

You throw the nearest thing you have at her – a law book you've been reading the previous night – and she dodges, grinning. "Okay, okay. Can you please put on clothes first?"

"Oh, I'd love to, perv. Get out."

Beca chuckles before closing the door behind her.

* * *

"So why are you here this early?"

Beca looks up from the counter, chewing greedily. "Holy shit. What did you put on this bagel?"

The two of you are at the kitchen. Seated at the counter facing each other, everything felt comfortably subdued. Granted, the house still felt a little too quiet, but compared to the week when Beca was moping around, at least both of you weren't acting like angsty, dysfunctional teenagers anymore.

"Cream cheese, maple syrup, hazelnuts. Which, as I'd like to point out, are the only edible things left in the apartment since you stockpiled liquor and weed instead."

Beca only grins. "People get awfully hungry when they're high. Besides, I already said sorry for eating all the food yesterday! Then I helped you clean up and now I brought you bagels, you ingrate. This is really good."

You successfully suppress your smile. "Really, why are you here?"

"Right, if you insist." Beca flecks crumbs off her jeans with the back of her hand, and you get the feeling she's looking everywhere but at you. "Can I..." She mumbles the rest of the sentence so fast you lean forward to hear what she's saying.

"I hear nothing."

Her hand automatically shoots up to scratch her earlobe. "Can I, uh, live with you?"

You almost drop your bagel in surprise. _She wants to live with me. Correction: She still wants to live with me._ Your mind reminds you that Beca _did_ ask for things to be back to normal – but you've been a skeptic for the entirety of your life, you honestly didn't believe things would ever go back to the way they were.

Except that they have. And in record time too, like it wasn't just yesterday when she was at the brink of ending your friendship. Beca wants to live with you and _dreams do come true._

Beca, probably confused by your lack of immediate reaction, begins to babble. "You've seen for yourself how nasty Kimmy Jin is, and, uh, Dad finally allowed me to live off-campus as long as I, um, check in with him often. You have a pretty big apartment. And I could help you with house chores. I do well with the outdoor stuff. I can, uh, mow your lawn – I mean, rake your leaves – work on your hedges – " she shakes her head. "You don't even have hedges. Where did that come from? I'm not very good at this, am I?"

You allow yourself a tiny smile, recalling the time you were at her dorm awkwardly asking her to come home. Seeing Beca in the same nervous state felt oddly satisfying. "Definitely not."

"Everything I say sound dirty to me." Beca covers her face with her hands, clearly mortified.

"That's because they are. We have a _concrete_ lawn, Beca."

Beca presses her forehead against the counter. "Yeah, yeah, lay it on me. Or, maybe we should forget I said anything! I don't want to upset your mental health, trigger your puke complex, whatever."

You roll your eyes in amusement. "Why are you asking? I mean, you practically live here."

"No, Chloe lives here. Used to, anyway. But I want my own room with my own stuff and without that radioactive pink wallpaper. Make it my own or something like that." Beca, still not looking at you, throws up one hand in the air.

"You could have just said that we're splitting rent, bills and groceries. And that you'll wash the dishes forever because it's one house chore I can't stand."

Beca twists her neck a little too fast to look at you with one eye. "If I say that, I can live here?"

" _Again,_ you practically live here. And you haven't agreed to my terms yet, so –"

"Agreed. Halfsies and washing dishes forever." Beca straightens up, grinning. "This is awesome! Thanks, Bree. I'll be the coolest roommate ever! Chloe? Psh. That girl taught you nothing but knitting! Of course, she doesn't have to know I said that. I'll show you unicorns and flamethrowers and rap music –"

"I really do mean the washing dishes part," you only answer in reply, busying yourself with your teacup as a last-ditch effort to contain your joy. _Beca's going to live with me._ Hearing her talking eagerly about it made it all the more real, if not a little exciting. _Okay, more like VERY exciting._

"Yeah, it's cool. I like washing dishes. Makes me space out and – _are you smiling?"_ Beca's tone quickly turns teasing, and you didn't have to look to know she had on that snarky grin you've come to know so well. "You are happy about this, aren't you?"

"Aca-scuse you, I am not! And you're washing the dishes after this, since you seem to enjoy it so much."

"Just admit it, Bree," Beca says gently. "I won't hold it against you."

"Hush. And one last thing: do not touch my things without my permission. You drank all my tea when I was gone. And you don't even drink tea, you idiot." You look up to see her still watching you, and you're a little surprised at her expression – a mix of warm, assuring and hopeful all at once. It breaks your resolve in record time. "Oh, for the love of – _fine!_ I am happy."

"Good." Beca's expression turns pleased, and you know you gave her the perfect answer. "I like seeing you happy."

And you don't bother to hide your grin after that.

* * *

The elation lasts until after breakfast, when, in the middle of putting away the dry dishes, Beca remembers she has a lunch date with her dad.

"We're stripping down Chloe's wallpaper when I get back," she says cheerfully before closing the door behind her and rushing off. And then you suddenly remember: you haven't consulted Chloe at all about your new living arrangements. _Shit._

You quickly consult the class schedule you copied off Chloe's notes. The redhead has thirty minutes before her next class. You dial her number, trying not to give in to your rising panic. After all, you just agreed to living with your best friend's girlfriend without asking the aforementioned best friend first.

Chloe picks up on the third ring and her perplexed tone doesn't help the dread welling inside you. _"Bree?"_

"I did something," you say, a tad louder and faster than you intended, the words spilling out in a rush. "I did something bad, I should have talked to you first –"

_"Oh no, did you set fire to Beca's stuff already?"_

You blink, your nervousness now laced with confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

 _"Bree, for future reference, no amount of talking will make me allow you to chuck Beca's stuff, alright? All of her worldly possessions can be crammed in two suitcases and a laptop bag. Two! Can you imagine?"_ You've always found it odd how you can hear Chloe smiling on the phone, but right at this moment, you know she is. _"I'm happy Beca came around rather quickly, Bree. This is good! You'll be spending more time together and she'll see how wonderful you are –"_

"You _know?_ "

It's Chloe's turn to be confused. _"Know what?"_

You take a deep breath. "Beca asked if she can live with me, and I...mighthavesaidyes."

Chloe's gentle chuckle on the other end does nothing to ease your tension. _"She texted me about it half an hour ago. Congratulations! About time too, don't you think?"_

You unconsciously start pacing, trying to work off your bewilderment at Chloe's utter lack of violent reaction – or, at the very least, surprise. "You're...you're not mad?"

_"Why would I be? Beca's been thinking about rooming with you since she visited me. And I'm happy she finally had the guts to ask. I told her it would turn out well – and it did, right?"_

"Aren't you worried about what could happen if Beca and I start living together?"

Chloe's tone turns serious. _"Aubrey, are you alright? I mean, if you feel that Beca's somehow forced you into this –"_

"No. I'm just..." You heave out a sigh and finally voice out your nagging doubts. "Shouldn't you be against this?"

 _"Bree, you're freaking out,"_ Chloe calmly replies. _"The only thing I'm against is misery. I think it's perfectly fine that you and Beca stick together."_

"Chloe, you _must_ have a limit. There are too many possible outcomes to this scenario, and what we both want to happen is betting against the odds. What if Beca and I end up worse than where we began? Or worse – what if Beca falls in love with me and entirely forgets about you? I don't want you agreeing to just about everything because you have so much to lose –"

_"Are you telling me I should draw the line at having you live together?"_

"No. All I'm saying is you shouldn't jump at every opportunity to push us together. Please look at the facts. You're miles away, we're not going to see you for the next few months, and Beca and I will be under one roof all by ourselves –"

 _"You want to talk facts? Fine."_ Chloe's voice is suddenly firm. _"You may have an advantage in having Beca with you right now, but she's my girlfriend and that makes us even. The only thing that hasn't happened is Beca falling in love with you. So let me tell you that we are not betting against the odds. Because you know what? Falling in love with you is easy once you let people in. That's all you have to do. And I only have to keep showing her how much I love her. We are not going to falter at those two things and we are going to have everything."_

You fall silent as you contemplate what the redhead just said. Chloe, somehow sensing the effect of her words, continues a little more quietly:

_"And for the record, I didn't push you together. Beca came to her decision all by herself. I promised you I'm not going to meddle if I see you trying, and so I merely applauded the fact that you let her in."_

You have nothing to say to that, so you simply listen to the sound of her breathing, letting the words sink in and pull you back to your senses.

" _Bree?"_

You clear your throat. "You're right."

 _"Of course I am!"_ Chloe replies warmly, like she wasn't just practically lecturing you a minute ago. _"Bree, you are not the villain you're portraying yourself to be. This is our story now, the three of us. Okay?"_

Even though you can't see her, you know Chloe sincerely means what she's saying. You miss her, miss the impromptu concerts you hold in front of the tv, miss her voice in the shower, miss her tackle-hugs when you come home, miss the way she winks at you when she catches your eye at public places, miss running your hand through her red hair when she's leaning on you. Baltimore suddenly feels like a newly-discovered planet no one can find a door to go through.

"Okay."

* * *

Two days after that, Beca moves in. Chloe was woefully right about the two suitcases and a laptop bag. The actual move takes a couple of hours after lunch at most – Beca arriving, throwing her things haphazardly around her new room, changing sheets and curtains. Other than that and the wallpaper, Beca doesn't want to change anything else. She even refuses to put away most of Chloe's things, except the beauty products on the dresser and the medical books.

"I like seeing her stuff," she only shrugs, while you try not to freak out at how she's just casually tossing jeans, socks and ties together in one drawer. "Makes the room feel more familiar."

"Suit yourself," you mutter, pushing your hands into your pockets in an attempt to restrain yourself from pouncing on the terribly-wrinkled shirts she laid out on the bed. "Although considering the amount of stuff you have, this place is going to look like a prison cell without Chloe's things."

Beca only rolls her eyes. "You and Chloe both, woman. I'm good. I have enough stuff." She turns around to put away the shirts and catches the look on your face. "You okay? You look like you're gonna puke. Do it outside, will you?"

"You – you _have_ to put those shirts in by color!" you finally explode. "Or at least fold and definitely hang _most_ of them, for God's sake!"

Beca raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what's causing the stick up your butt?"

You tug the shirts off her arms and sit on the bed, folding and sorting clothes one by one. "Either you're color-blind, have never heard of hangers, or had no one teach you how to fold _anything_ when you were younger. Never, _ever,_ fold cotton flannels! They're easily wrinkled, so you have to put them up in hangers. Hang them by color so it's easier to choose when you're mixing and matching. Also, put your socks and ties on the cubby holes of the drawer organizer so you can see the designs properly –" you look up, finding it odd that Beca hasn't interrupted you for the past minute. She's staring down her sneakers, suddenly looking like a tiny brown-haired kid alone on a playground. "Beca?"

Beca begins fiddling with one of the flannels you laid out. "Yeah. My parents weren't – there wasn't really anyone around when I was younger." She says this in the most casual way possible, but it immediately reminds you of Chloe's words back in Baltimore.

_People have been leaving her all her life._

"I'm...I'm sorry for saying that. Come here."

She puts on a half-smirk, an attempt at regaining her bravado. It comes out as a grimace. "I don't want a hug."

You were intending to give her one, knowing she just gave away a piece of herself, but then remind yourself that Beca is radically different from any person you've ever met in terms of affection. You roll your eyes instead and regroup. "Well, keep dreaming. Come here."

Beca shuffles toward you, and you motion her to sit. The uncertainty in her face makes you want to reach out to her – an entire summer of seeing each other at your most vulnerable state and she's still apparently wary of exposing herself. You've long discovered that her caustic, cocky attitude was a defense. Beca in private was innately humorous, fiercely protective, and surprisingly chivalrous and caring. But then there was always more to her than she cared to show, and you're seeing part of it now: the occasional wish to open up like any other lonely person, immediately followed by the reluctance to reveal more for the fear that she'd be giving away too much.

You lay out one shirt between you and she stares at it, uncomprehending.

"I'm going to teach you how to fold clothes, because there are people around you now who can show you the things you've missed. And also, because you're making me do all the work." You flash a brief smile to let her know you're joking. "Ready?"

She looks at you for a long while, her blue-grey eyes unnaturally light in the afternoon sun. Then she finally smiles back – a soft, bashful one that's the exact opposite of her smirk. "How come you always know what to say?"

You shrug and busy yourself with the shirt so you wouldn't call attention to your reddening face. "Draw an imaginary horizontal line across the middle of the shirt, and then a vertical one running from the right shoulder down to the hem. It should form a ninety-degree angle –"

"I knew you'd turn this into an exact science," Beca chuckles. You try to silent her with a stern glare, but she only chuckles some more, before amicably following your instructions.

* * *

"Sorry I touched your boob at the tub," Stacie says, looking the exact opposite of sorry. "It's just that you were wearing a white blouse and I could totally see your black bra underneath when you got wet. Your boobs looked so _pert_ , like they'd fit my hand perfectly –" she lifts her hand slowly towards your direction, and Beca slaps her wrist with a laugh.

"Dude, I liked it better when you were just groping yourself."

It's evening. Stacie and Fat Amy dropped by earlier to see if they can still help out with the move – not that they were able to, since you and Beca were pretty much done by the time they arrived. You decide to order Chinese takeout for dinner, which the four of you are now eating while Stacie and Fat Amy cheerfully narrate their misadventures with Beca during your absence.

You try not to berate Stacie for her terribly-graphic apology. "Please don't explain your reasons for doing dirty things. Not while I'm eating."

Stacie only sticks out her tongue. "Well, then, thanks for the fleeting yet dearly-treasured sensory experience."

Beca and Fat Amy couldn't help but chortle, while you barely hold back your urge to vomit. "Ugh, not another word!" You inhale, invoking the last of your resistance, and manage to calm yourself a little. "At least you had the decency to throw out my rug."

Fat Amy snorts into her dumplings, and this time Stacie finally looks apologetic. "Err...yeah. No biggie."

"You brought it to your dorm room, didn't you?" You raise your eyebrow at her and both she and Fat Amy cave in, almost falling off their chairs, convulsing from laughter. "Oh my god, you did! Eww!"

"Okay, before you get any ideas, Fat Amy and I didn't hook up at all," Stacie explains with a grin. "We got out of the bathroom and then I remembered she ate pizza off the floor, so I stopped. Immediately, if I may add."

Both you and Beca cringe at the memory, but Fat Amy only shrugs nonchalantly at Stacie. "Your loss, mate. There's plenty other blokes lining up for them honka-honkas." She gestures to her chest, but immediately stops upon seeing your incredulous glare.

"So you felt that my rug would compensate for your – your sexual frustration?!"

"I wasn't frustrated! Fat Amy and I both agreed later that I'm not the most qualified person for the job. After all, I've only slept with a couple of women. And your rug was furry and soft and _green,_ " Stacie answers good-naturedly. "I did you a favor by taking it because it doesn't fit your room decor –"

"Aca-scuse me! It's _myrtle_ green. I had that rug custom-made so it would go with my room's color palette of champagne and deep carmine –"

"– and with the, ah, _adventures_ I've had on it, I'm sure you wouldn't want it back."

"Gross, please don't –"

"I rode that rug better than Aladdin."

You gag. "Jesus."

"Yeah, I screamed that too." Stacie smugly raises her hand to accept Beca's fist bump, the two obviously enjoying your discomfort.

The ringing doorbell interrupts them. You and Beca look at each other, wondering who it could be. You wipe your lips with a napkin, leave them in the kitchen, and answer the door – only to encounter the apprehensively-smiling face of Beca's dad.

"Dr. Mitchell?"

"Hi, Aubrey, you remembered me."

You've met him twice, both times when the Bellas won the a capella championship for two straight years now. The first time, Beca introduced you as her co-captain. Last time – five months ago – she had instead said "You've met my friend Aubrey", and your heart had done a little dance at that. How would you not remember?

You're suddenly a little nervous – _damn it, Aubrey, are you seriously worried about making a good impression this early?_ "Of course! Um, please come in. I'll get Beca –"

"Err, please don't," Dr. Mitchell quickly interrupts, looking just as fidgety as you are. "I'm glad she didn't open the door – she, uh, she doesn't know I'm coming. I'd like to talk to you – if it's possible?"

You have no idea why the man would want a conversation with you without his daughter knowing, but now it seems your thoughts of making a good first impression was actually legitimate. "Okay. But are you sure you don't want to come in?"

Dr. Mitchell only shakes his head, in the same manner Beca does – a little rapidly, lips pursed to one side.

"Just let me tell Beca where I've gone, I'll be with you in a second." You dart back to the kitchen, where the others are waiting expectantly. "Hey, it's an acquaintance from Emory. I'm stepping out with him for a bit."

"Oooh, a guy!" Stacie winks at you suggestively. "Can I join you?"

You roll your eyes, although you're congratulating yourself for coming up with a believable lie in a short amount of time. "Seriously, Stacie? This guy is a professor." That part, at least, is true.

"Ooh, someone's hot for teacher." Stacie laughs at your unimpressed expression. "Relax. I was kidding."

Fat Amy pounces on your plate with her chopsticks. "Dibs on your char siu!"

Beca says nothing, only looks at you with unreadable dark eyes.

* * *

Of all places, you end up at your next-door neighbor's swing set. The owner of the lawn is your landlady, a kindly old woman with grandchildren who visited every weekend. She is quite fond of Chloe (and you, by association) because Chloe occasionally came over to play on the swings, dragging either you or Beca to push her as high as she can go.

You tell Dr. Mitchell this and he chuckles, effectively breaking the ice. "Chloe is quite a character. Not in the same way as your Australian friend, of course, but that girl is just, I don't know, endearing? How do you call it when someone is funny and nice and energetic, but in a mature way?"

You shake your head. "I doubt there's a single word for all that, but yes, that's Chloe."

"To be honest, at first I was actually surprised that my daughter is dating such a bubbly person. Beca's just so...dark sometimes. How does it all work? Nobody else but them would know, but I'm just glad it happened."

You've often asked Chloe the same thing since she first admitted having a toner for the brunette. The redhead always attributed it to their differing personalities, although you've usually sensed there was more she wasn't telling you every time it comes up. "It's certainly more than Beca and Chloe being polar opposites."

"True."

You sit in companionable silence for a few moments, your earlier tension fading away, until Dr. Mitchell speaks again.

"So, I've heard you used to give Beca such a hard time."

Well, so much for being at ease. You straighten your spine, about to start defending yourself – but Dr. Mitchell turns to you with a smile, and you know there's no need to.

"I did," you say instead, having calmed down somewhat. "I hated her on sight. But I've always been too quick to form conclusions about people, even those I've just met. It wasn't her fault."

"I gave her a hard time several years ago too, so I'm in no position to judge." He rubs his chin contemplatively. "So what changed?"

 _Well, I kind of fell in love with your daughter._ "She became Chloe's girlfriend, and we gradually became friends."

"It's doing Beca a world of good." Dr. Mitchell regards you with kindly green eyes. "I know you know I came over to check out your apartment, but what you might not know is that I also came over to say thanks."

You stare back, perplexed.

"Beca and I had a good talk when she came in from Baltimore. She told me that Chloe is the best thing that happened in her life, and that she wanted to go to college in Maryland so they'd be together. I was understandably upset over her decision. But in the end, I was just glad that Beca had decided to pursue her education. So I told her it didn't really matter to me where she wanted to study, as long as she was happy."

Your throat constricts a little at the new information. But you couldn't see where Dr. Mitchell is going with this, so you merely nod for him to continue.

"Two days ago, I had lunch with Beca. This time, she told me she changed her mind and was going to stay in Barden instead."

You keep your face straight, although you breathe an internal sigh of relief. Beca wasn't leaving. You wonder if Dr. Mitchell tells stories this way often, putting twists at the end. "That's good news."

Dr. Mitchell nods. "She didn't want to leave the Bellas. But then she has another reason: she feels that good things are waiting to happen here. Not that there was nothing exciting about moving to Baltimore to be with Chloe, but she said – in her own words – that she might have found a possibility."

 _A possibility?_ Dr. Mitchell must have seen your furrowed brow, because he continues.

"One that she's not quite ready to explore yet, but she tells me she's taking measures. My daughter can be quite cryptic." He stares off in the distance, and then back at you. "Thank you for letting her do this – living with you. I think it's exactly the kind of thing she needs right now, to be among friends."

You feel your face growing hot at his words. "Um, you're welcome."

He looks at you for a long while, scratching his earlobe, like he was contemplating saying more. But after a brief silence he only smiles again and holds out a hand to help you up.


	11. Chapter 11

_August_

Fall comes early this year, and with it, law school.

For the first time in your life, going back to university felt too soon. You try to tell yourself it's only because Emory would be radically different without Chloe. There'd be no driving to uni while she sat shotgun singing Pocketful of Sunshine or something equally cheesy, no redhead winking at you at the halls, no enthusiastic hugs and no occasional drive-bys to the pet store or park when she hitches a ride back home.

It's surely not because living with Beca is going surprisingly well.

Not that everything just started out smoothly, by the way. The morning after she moved in, it took all of your composure not to completely lose it around your best friend's girlfriend who just happens to know you want her.

That day you're still in bed at nine in the morning, seriously contemplating hiding for the next twenty-four hours, because you're sure it's impossible not to make things awkward with the alt girl roaming just outside your door. Your hours of musing (which you should've dedicated to your daily morning run) are then interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Bree." Beca's voice is quiet. You sit up in bed, heart thumping.

"Huh?" Dammit, you're incoherent. You try to form a proper word of English. "What?"

"I'm, uh – you okay?"

Well, at least you're not the only one flustered about this. "Yes. Why?"

"Nothing. I'm going out."

You don't hear the front door slamming shut even after a full minute. In fact, you don't hear anything until Beca speaks again.

"Okay, come on, Bree. I can hear you over thinking from my room. Can I come in?"

You're a Posen and Posens don't hide – you put yourself out there, because you never win by hiding (according to your father, at least). So you decide _to hell with it_ and quickly pull the covers around you to cover yourself. "Okay."

The door swings open, Beca pausing in the doorway with a thoughtful look on her face. "Hey."

You only nod in what you hope was a curt manner.

"Thought I'd walk in on you in your underwear."

You're really in your underwear underneath the sheets, but you're not going to tell her that. "What do you want?" you ask instead, wincing a little when it comes out less authoritative than you intended.

Beca shoves her hands into her pockets. Her blue-grey eyes rakes over you in a way that's not uncomfortable, but makes you self-conscious all the same. "You can't be enjoying your ceiling _this_ much. What's going on?"

There's a hundred replies running through your head, but you go for the most honest one. "I don't know what to do."

Beca settles on the office chair beside your desk, swiveling around to face you. "Is this making you uneasy? When I moved in I really didn't give you a chance to, you know, express your feelings or whatever."

"It's making me nervous," you admit with a sigh. "You have a key to my house. The only other person who has that is Chloe. I just haven't completely wrapped my head around that. I mean, how do I act around you? What are we going to do? What do _I_ do?"

Beca only runs a hand through her hair, looking at you with the usual smirk. "Wow."

You raise an eyebrow, your tension temporarily overruled by annoyance. "Seriously? _Wow?"_

Beca only rolls her eyes and jumps out of her chair. She then opens your closet, picks out a shirt at random and throws it on the bed, much to your consternation.

"Beca, what –"

"Get dressed." Beca meets your eyes, and hers are unexpectedly determined and commanding and you couldn't look away. "Get dressed and just do your thing."

"I appreciate the effort in spontaneity, but I'm not one of those girls from unrealistically clichéd movies who jump into motorcycles and go to the theme park or whatever for a change of pace –"

"Yeah, because you're much smarter than that. So just get your ass out of bed, okay? Go through the motions. Do your laundry, make lunch, finish reading _On the Road_ , run tomorrow at six a.m. and so on and so forth." She tosses a pair of shorts in your direction before turning back to you. "You don't have to do anything differently, Bree. It's just me. I don't deserve some special treatment or whatever –"

"But you are special," you blurt out before realizing it. _Oh, crap._ "I mean –"

Beca turns away, but not before you glimpse the beginnings of a grin on her face. You trail off in relief because thankfully, your sudden declaration didn't seem to faze her in the least.

"You are, too," she replies, quiet sincerity in her voice. "But I don't show it by hiding under my sheets, do I?"

You couldn't help but smile at her now.

"It's not working, anyway," Beca adds, proceeding to the door. "Nice lingerie."

You look down and spot the top half of your midnight-blue bra peeking out from the covers. By the time you look up Beca had already slammed the door shut after her, although you can still hear her guffawing in the hall.

* * *

Even after that, it took a few more days before life with Beca turned into the easy state it's currently in. Meals together first felt stilted, conversations even more so. You keep trading civil questions to break the silence. But now that things have settled down and there wasn't really anything to fight about, it seems both of you have nothing to say to each other.

You're both trying to be overly nice and respectful, minding the fact that you're inevitably coming home to each other at the end of every day. The result is that your social interactions end up being utterly unsatisfactory.

"Hey, Bree, how's it going?"

"Okay, thank you."

And that was that. Then you'd both go about your daily business – you trying to finish the mountain of papers you have to read for classes, she churning and sending out mixes to clubs. Aside from polite smiles to each other once in a while, you'd end up barely talking at all.

You're honestly stumped. You and Beca had lived together, and _can_ live together, on your own. Most of your previous interactions may have been sparked and oiled by Chloe's physical or metaphorical presence, but you should be able to have Chloe-free conversations, right?

Eventually, suffocated by the gradually-stifling quiet, you put up one of your portable speakers on the counter one morning and play one of your favorite playlists during breakfast. You're humming some song remix while stirring honey into your muesli when Beca comes in. She nods at you blearily, and is halfway to the coffee maker when she pauses.

"Are you actually listening to 'Little Talks'? Like, Thomas Jack?"

"'Little Talks' is by Of Monsters and Men," you correct absentmindedly, eyes focused on the stream of honey from the bottle. "But yes, the remix is by Thomas Jack."

"Bree," Beca breathes, sitting across you, apparently forgetting her coffee mug was still empty. "You know Thomas Jack? Like, non-Ace of Base, electronic-music-producing Thomas Jack?"

"Yes," you reply dryly, raising an eyebrow before taking her mug and filling it with the remaining coffee from the pot. "I don't live under a rock."

She takes the mug with a disbelieving look on her face, like she was seeing you in a different light, and you just know she's torn between making a snide retort or keeping the tone snark-free.

"That's great. I was starting to think I've mistakenly signed up for a convent or something," she finally acquiesces with a grin. "Thomas Jack's cool."

You're a little wary at her unexpected interest, but you pick up the conversation anyway. "Actually, 'Little Talks' is his only track that I know. It evokes a very relaxing mood."

"Yeah, it makes me think of sipping cocktails at the beach while watching the sunset or something."

You nod, now smiling slightly. It's exactly the image in your head.

"So what else do you like?" she asks, leaning forward a little now. "Because if you like Thomas Jack, you might like Kygo too. They both make tropical house music."

"Oh, is that what's it's called?"

"The cocktail-sipping music? Yeah."

"Well, I like Kygo. Especially his remix of 'Let Her Go' by Passenger. It's particularly impressive to me because god, the original version was grating."

"I know!" Beca exclaims with a snort. "I hate the stupid tinny voice in the original! Damn, it feels good to admit that. Don't tell Chloe, though. She loves that song so much."

"Remember that time she played it on speakers for one straight week in her room?"

"Ugh, yes! You have no idea, the joy you brought me when you told her you're not entering her room until she stops playing that blasted song."

"So what kind of music are you making? Is it tropical house?"

Beca shakes her head. "No, not yet. It's mostly trap, electronica, some garage. I'd like to take a crack at tropical house sometime, though. What are you listening to right now?"

"Hmm. I am really, _really_ into The XX right now."

"'Intro' is a fucking amazing piece of music."

"It is. It's the first song on my study playlist..."

Later in the day she offers to help you make lunch, and you laugh a little when she tiptoes to get sesame oil from the kitchen's higher shelves. "I should've installed ladders before agreeing to live with you."

"Yeah, yeah, lay the elf jokes on me, Posen."

And so it goes for the rest of the day. But it's only when you're both out in your green Prius, exchanging playful banter on where to go to dinner, that you finally realize you've been in close proximity without a single awkward moment for roughly ten hours now and counting.

"I know now why you never grew any taller. You ate too many meals at Taco Bell!"

"It's my genes, genius, did you see how small my dad is? Besides, I've had enough rabbit food for today, thank you very much."

"I don't think the tuna and spinach casserole we had for lunch would interest a rabbit –"

"Can it, smarty-pants. We can go to the falafel place tomorrow! If you're so concerned about my height, give me protein, okay? I need a big, juicy hunk of meat."

"Ugh, _fine!_ But we're going to a steakhouse, because I am not tolerating your unhealthy fast food obsession." You turn away from driving for a split second, raising one eyebrow in amusement. "By the way, what you said earlier? It's a little disconcerting coming from a lesbian."

"Oh please," Beca laughs. "It only sounds dirty to you because you're not getting any big, juicy hunks of meat in you lately –"

"Say 'big, juicy hunks of meat' one more time..."

"Eh, go ahead and puke. These are your beloved leather seats anyway."

"No. I will hit you, and you won't be able to get out because the car has child-proof locks."

"Very funny, Posen. I'll just break a window and yell that I'm being kidnapped, then..."

You can't believe it took this long, but you're finally enjoying yourself – and from the constant spark of mischief in Beca's eyes, she is, too. How it happened was unbelievably easy. You only had to be yourselves.

* * *

So you guess Beca's status right now is _housebroken cat_ – tolerant of you, wants to be in the same room as you, mostly playfully sarcastic with you. Typical Beca. But really, there was a time when all of this was impossible: mornings spent bantering over breakfast, hanging out with the Bellas after your classes, or making dinner at home and eating it with a running snarky commentary. Whenever Beca was off the night shift at Barden's radio station, spending an uneventful evening just occupying both ends of the couch – sometimes talking to Chloe on Skype, or watching TV, or just doing your own thing respectively – is a common occurrence.

Of course, Beca still gets in your nerves sometimes. But over the summer you've somehow learned how to let some things go. And you could swear Beca is becoming equally considerate: cleaning up after herself as best as she could, or quickly apologizing and dialing back whenever she takes her taunting a little bit too far. Most of the time – and you wouldn't be caught dead admitting this to anyone – you're actually having fun.

* * *

Barden's classes are slated to begin at the last week of the month, but you've already memorized Beca's class schedule. You've also developed routines around each other. The Bellas are now starting recruitment, plus Beca's shifts at the radio station, which required her to go to college almost every day. She would often join you for breakfast and then the two of you would head out, listening to the radio and inevitably ending up talking about music. You drop her off at the bus stop halfway to Barden and then drive off to your 9 am class at Emory. After your classes, when you have time to spare, you meet up with her and the Bellas for dinner somewhere before coming home.

Two weeks into law school, you're losing time for anything else. Your electives are a jumble of courses for institutional reform, business law, and the required subjects for all sophomores, not to mention law review, moot court and drawing up prospects for next year's summer internship. Second year is _punishing_.

One evening, after roughly five hours of reading up the required materials for your mediation, complex litigation, and entrepreneurship in educational reform classes, you look up from your study table to find a tiny brunette staring at you.

"Dude, you look like hell."

"That's what a woman wants to hear." You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. It's eleven pm on a Wednesday, and you realize you've been studying throughout Beca's evening shift at the radio station, too busy to even notice her come in.

"Have you had dinner?"

You shake your head. "In a bit. I just have to finish these." You point to a couple of textbooks, and it's her turn to shake her head.

"Thought so. Bree, take a break. You're too tired to understand any of those."

"Thanks, but maybe later. I'm fine."

"Aubrey Posen," Beca says, in a stern voice you only hear when she's commanding the Bellas. "Chloe told me to keep an eye on you because you forget to eat, and by that crazed look on your face, I agree. It'll take an hour at most. Get up."

"No."

Beca grabs the edge of your desk, intent on overturning it, and you quickly stand. "Don't! There are two hundred and seventy-two papers on this desk! _Fine,_ I'm coming _._ "

And so you follow her to the kitchen, since you've been reading the last few paragraphs of _Exxon Shipping Co. v. Baker_ at least thrice without it sinking in anyway. There's a delicious scent of lemon and herbs in the air. You watch Beca tiredly as she sets the table and opens the countertop oven, taking out a pan of what looked like pesto-crusted fish fillets. _So that's where the smell comes from._ She places one fillet each on top of two plates of steaming brown rice, then retrieves a pan from the stove, from where she scoops out roasted cherry tomatoes.

You're fighting the urge to hug her by the time she places a plate in front of you. "Beca, this is impressive."

Beca settles across you, her ears red, something you've noticed happening every time she's abashed. "It's nothing. Eat up."

You take a bite of the fish. It was tilapia, succulent and tasty, the skin slightly crisp. "Seriously, this is good. And you let me plan our meals for the longest time!"

"Well, I didn't dare interfere," Beca mutters, her entire face now red. "You count your calories or whatever. I found these fillets on the fridge, so I figured they're part of your diet and went ahead."

_She takes note._ It's all you can do not to grin happily at the information. You cover it up by digging into your plate, wondering how the fact that Beca is an excellent cook had escaped you all this time.

"Tea?" Beca offers, when you're already putting the used dishes on the sink.

"Yes, thank you."

Beca shrugs with a half-smile and busies herself with the kettle.

"By the way, thanks for making me dinner. It would be nice if you can cook more often."

Beca snorts and turns to you, teabag in hands. "No problem. But you're letting me mess up whatever weekly mealception matrix you've got? You're kidding."

"Pick whatever dish you feel like any day, and I'll help you with the prep."

"Oh, man. You _are_ serious." Beca blinks, her blue-grey eyes widening slightly. "What about your diet?"

"It's not a diet. I make it a point to eat well-balanced meals that are specifically factored for my body weight and daily physical output."

Beca's gaze is trained on you and she's taking in your arms, your waist, your legs. You almost tell her off for gaping until you notice her expression isn't malicious at all. And then you just _know_ she's not really seeing you, but all the hard work you've done on yourself: the running, the gym sessions, the self-control, the abstinence. All this need to be your best.

You know she's dying to ask why, but she holds back. "Well, if you're sure...I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

_September_

" _How's it going?_ "

"Alright, I guess?"

_"Yeah, but you never call me,"_ and you almost see Chloe pouting on the other line. _"You haven't traded me for Beca, have you?"_

"Of course not!" you exclaim hotly, drawing the attention of the people standing nearest you in the amphitheater. "There's just so much workload this year and I just barely have the time, aside from those texts I send you –"

Chloe's chuckling on the other end. " _Kidding, Bree. Had you called, I wouldn't have time to answer either. Postgraduate education is killing me."_

"Ugh, tell me about it. Today's the first time I've seen the girls in a week." You spot Stacie waving at you and walk over, stopping a few feet away from the tall brunette for privacy. "We're at aca-initiation night. How are you doing?"

_"Oooh, I am so envious!"_ Chloe quips so excitedly, Stacie raises her eyes at the squawk of your phone. _"I wish I was there! I'm doing fine, although I could use more sleep. How are you and Beca? Is she still too respectful? Are you cuddling already?"_

"No! Well...she's not exceedingly polite anymore, which is an improvement." Out of the corner of your eye Stacie's smirking, trying to eavesdrop. You lower your voice as best as you can. "Listen, we've only been living together for a couple of weeks –"

_"What's taking so long? Why aren't you seducing her?"_ Chloe's immensely enjoying herself and you just know she's saying this to make you squirm. " _Beca's walking in on you all the time! Just get new lingerie, drag her towards the sheets –"_

"Chloe Beale!" you interrupt, trying to block the rather _enticing_ mental images now running through your head. "Wait, Beca told you she keeps walking in on me?"

_"Oh, yeaaah."_ Chloe's teasing tone is replete with smugness. _"Well, no. I kind of, um, weaseled it out of her. But at least we now know she's checking you out, right?"_

"That's your takeaway?! Oh my god, I am so embarrassed –"

_"You and Beca both, darling. What is wrong with you guys?! I'm happy Beca's being a gentleman, but sooner or later you two have to practice for my homecoming, right?"_

"Jesus Christ, you sound like –" you glance instinctively at Stacie, who licks her lips at you. "Stacie, _really?_ "

_"But seriously, Bree, from what Beca's been telling me, you're getting along great. I'm happy you've started letting her in."_

Her acknowledgment, plus learning that Beca spoke about you, reassures you somewhat. "Well, I'm doing my best."

_"I know, and right now you've already done some impressive effort in such a short time. Anyway, I wouldn't be delaying the party any longer. Get loaded on jiggle juice!"_

"Alright. Take care of yourself, Chlo. Don't skip meals, and get at least five hours of sleep."

" _Oh please. Beca told me she has to drag you to eat dinner yourself! I'll just PM you in the next...err...lifetime, I guess, unless I make it out of eval exams alive next week."_ Chloe makes kissy noises on the phone and you chuckle. _"I love you! Feel free to interpret that any way you want."_

"I love you too."

"You look like a Cheshire cat," Stacie comments as you put your phone down. "If I didn't know any better I'd say your boyfriend just called."

You shake your head and rearrange your face into what you hope was a calmer expression. "Hello to you too, Stace. Where's Beca?"

"Entertainment." Stacie points to a makeshift deck further down the amphitheater, where Beca, Luke and another slightly-older man convened. "That's Paul, the manager of The Garage. He's been begging Luke to introduce him to Beca for ages. About time too, right?"

You nod. It was common knowledge to the Bellas how badly the biggest club downtown, The Garage, wanted Beca as a resident DJ. But Beca had always passed off the opportunity – with her double major in music and business, her shifts at the college radio station, running the Bellas, and dating Chloe, all she had time for in the past was creating and posting her mixes online.

Not that Beca lacked exposure, though. Barden FM has a massive audience in the eighteen-to-thirty-year-old bracket, and not just in the college; it was the third most popular radio station in the state. Beca herself had a good following under her DJ name, Wonkypella. With a possible gig at The Garage, Beca's music would be heard by an ever wider ( _or wilder_ , you correct yourself) audience.

"What are you having?" Stacie asks, holding up her empty cup. "CR's bartending, so don't hold back."

"A margarita."

"Classy."

Your phone chimes on cue five minutes after Stacie turns away, and your first guess is Chloe. But then there's Beca's name on the screen instead.

_\- Lookit. There's a really attractive chick that just arrived. Scrubs up well too_

Trying not to jump to the obvious conclusion that Beca was probably starting to consider cheating on Chloe, you type in a hasty reply, dying to look around at Beca or whoever girl she is talking about.

_\- I am pleased you now know how to spell. Your punctuations could use more work. Is this a wrong send or what?_

Beca is not at the deck when you look up. You're already tactfully scanning the perimeter when she messages you back.

\- _Wouldn't have spelled it right if it wasn't for you. Duh. Should I bring this girl a drink?_

You hold off replying and instead crane your neck over the crowd. The sudden tap on your shoulder almost makes you drop your phone. You whirl around and Beca is standing there, with two cups in hand and that careless smirk.

She offers one cup to you and her smirk grows more manic at your puzzled expression. "For a very smart woman, Posen, you're also very dense."

Then the drink in your hand and the text messages suddenly make sense, and you could only go red with the mix of embarrassment and giddiness coursing through you.

"...oh."

Beca looks like she was trying not to burst out laughing. "Yeah, _oh_." To your relief, she decides not to take it further. "I'm glad you made it."

"Yes, because from your invitation yesterday, you didn't exactly stress how big this night would be."

Even in the dim light of the orange bulbs strewn overhead, you spot Beca's grin turn sheepish. "Luke and Paul's been nagging me for ages. With Chloe at Baltimore, I guess I finally have the time." Her tone turns teasing again. "Besides, you'd be too nervous for me. Can't have you puking at my audience, eh?"

You roll your eyes and, still feeling the growing warmth in your chest from her compliments earlier, try to quell it by sipping your drink. Surprise, it's a margarita. "Did you meet Stacie on your way here?"

Beca nods and gestures to the open area below, and you catch a glimpse of Stacie dancing suggestively with a jock-type freshman who looked like he couldn't believe his luck. "I think we lost her."

"Can't blame her. That beefcake is more appetizing than me."

"Well, if you let your hair down, I'm sure you'd stand a chance." Her eyes bear into yours, and though her tone is still light, you could swear she was trying to read your mind. "You're not into Stacie, are you?"

You shake your head more vehemently than necessary. "No!"

"Great," Beca exhales. "I can never tell, you know, when anybody likes somebody, so I can't tease you for being dense. We're both dense."

The utter honesty, combined with her using too many words and the way she's waving around her hand too much, clears it up for you. "You're drunk."

"No, I'm buzzed. You're using your judge-y voice."

You mirror her smirk to mask the disappointment setting in. "Is that why you're hitting on me?"

"No, no, no, _no_." Beca scratches her earlobe with her free hand and sighs. "I wasn't – that wasn't hitting on you. Damn it, this is hard to explain. You need to get on this level. So you'd understand."

"And now you're trying to get me hammered so I'd be more receptive to your – your _pelvic_ _sorcery?_ "

"No, I'm getting you to relax! Jeez, Aubrey, not everyone is out to get you. Certainly not me. Okay?" Beca drains the last of her cup and holds both her palms forward in a _hold it_ gesture. "I'm just saying calm the fuck down. Look, I see how hard you're working at yourself every single day. And I want you to know I notice how – how perfect you are, okay? And once you let your guard down, everyone here can just glance at you and they'll notice, too. And I don't want some douchebag guy to be the first to acknowledge it. So what happened earlier – that wasn't me hitting on you. That was me, risking sounding pervy, just to tell you: ' _heyyy_ , you look good'."

You should have expected this, how Beca surprises you every single time.

Yet it's uncanny, how you never do.

Something bubbles up from the tense pit in your gut and quickly works its way up to your throat. Before you know it, you're laughing. Freely, _fantastically_ at that.

"Okay, it _is_ pervy. Hopelessly pervy." Beca's laughing too, obviously relieved; you just know she was so close to regretting the words she had just said, and now you've surprised her as well.

You're still giggling like a mad schoolgirl when she straightens up, and apparently the surprises are not over yet, because then she says:

"There. I'd want you."


	12. Chapter 12

No one's really surprised when Beca gets the gig to The Garage – the meeting with Paul Brennan was merely a formality – but the Bellas were ecstatic at the news, falling all over the tiny DJ and empathetically swearing not to miss her big debut.

And so the next Saturday evening, you all pile into a limousine Fat Amy had somehow procured for the occasion. Beca is seated beside you, a half-wary, half-amused expression on her face as you all watch Lilly opening a bottle of champagne with an elongated, deadly-looking silver dagger. She finally uncorks the bottle with a pop, the Bellas all cheer as you breathe a sigh of relief, and Denise starts passing around glasses.

"Okay, I was expecting that to have a terrible ending," Beca laughs. "Put that thing away, Lilly, you're making Bree nervous."

"Aca-scuse you, I am not."

"Guys! Somebody take a photo," Beca suddenly exclaims, taking out her phone. "Chloe would want to see this!"

Stacie passes the phone to the limo driver, who takes a shot of all of you grinning widely at the camera. Beca takes the phone back and you discreetly watch her send the photo to Chloe with the caption, _Wish you were here._

"To Short Stack," Fat Amy announces, raising her glass. "Big night tonight mate, good onya. May your gig go off as wildly as dingoes in heat –" the rest of you snort – "and may you be paid soon, coz I'm broke from renting this exy limo, and you have to spot me a hundo so I can get pissed tonight –"

"A _hundred?_ What are you, a whale?" Stacie cries out. "That's, like, fifteen drinks –"

"Hey! You can't tell me off, Boobs, you drink at least two bottles of vodka in every party –"

"Girls, we have free bottle service," you remind them. "Let's get on with the toast. Anybody?"

"Alright, alright, I'm taking over," Cynthia Rose calls, raising her glass as well. "Three words, B: Kick their asses."

"Cheers," all of your chorus happily, clinking your glasses together. Beca drinks her champagne in one long draught, and you couldn't help but notice her jiggling one foot as she crossed her legs.

Fat Amy hollers for the driver to go to The Garage, and, seeing that everyone else was busy bantering and getting tanked on champagne, you turn to Beca. To your surprise, she's already looking at you.

"Bree," she mumbles breathlessly, almost like a whine. She's clearly nervous; her brow is mopped with sweat and the impulse to wipe it is maddening. "Shit, am I really doing this?"

You smile to reassure her and answer back in the same low tone. "Yes. And you'll be good at it."

"But what if they don't like me?"

You want to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question – _seriously, how can they not like Beca if she had managed to win ME over, of all people?_ "Beca, you already have the tremendous amount of talent. You only have to let everyone else in that club know. Just do what you do best, enjoy the moment – everything else will follow."

"I can't believe you're the one telling me to enjoy the moment," Beca comments with a wry smile, briefly dispelling some of her anxiety, before resuming jiggling her foot again. "Fuck, I'm a wreck."

"I was going to show you this later, but this might help." You retrieve a folded email printout from your purse and hand it to Beca, who manages to read it despite the movement of the limousine.

"Holy shit, you did not just pre-order GTA V!" She turns to you with a delighted expression, all traces of apprehension forgotten. "I thought I had to line up for that!"

"It's back at the house," you say, pleased at her reaction. "I wanted to give it to you tonight, but I figured you might lose it at the club –" But you're cut short by Beca's free hand settling on your bare knee, and whatever it was you were saying is suddenly rendered completely irrelevant.

"Thanks, Bree," she says simply, her eyes full of gratitude. Her hand squeezes your knee once, in affirmation of what she just said, and your only coherent thought is _Thank god I went with the dress._

* * *

And it's crazy how Beca riles up the crowd later, easily manipulating emotions with deft flicks of her wrists. She's high up at the deck with this sort of power that controls the entire club, and it's only then that you realize how _different_ her music sounds from anyone else's: there's a teasing buildup to the arrangements of her tracks, an edge of danger that can jump just as quickly to casual nonchalance, and an overall sophisticated catchiness that make her music hard to resist.

The two vodka martinis you've had give you just the right amount of buzzed adrenaline to lose yourself in dancing, surrounded by other Bellas moving in equal abandon. You laugh, drink and sing along to some of the more familiar samples, occasionally throwing your arms around each other in conspiratorial camaraderie.

Sometimes you can't help but watch Beca, standing twelve feet away. Her eyes are intent on her laptop even as she nods her head and sways along to moody electronic loops of her own making. People clap and shout whenever another great track winds down and it's insane, how your chest just fucking swells with pride.

The third time you glance at the brunette, she actually meets your gaze. Holds it, even. You're too pumped up to be ashamed about staring, and so you give her what you hope is a casual wave instead. Her answering smirk is conspiratorial – like she wants you in on an inside joke. It makes you wonder why.

When she cues up the next track, it's slower, darker, and positively dripping with so much seduction that you almost feel the gaps in the dance floor tighten. But it's only when you hear the ethereal voice of The XX's vocalist singing the first bar of _Angels_ that it all starts to make sense.

You're suddenly seized by this powerful rush of giddiness. You shut your eyes for a moment and now it's just you and Beca and your current favorite piece of music, tastefully reinterpreted by her talented mind. But there's something else happening to you, something that perilously speeds up your heartbeat until your entire body is dying to combust: _desire._ It's a hunger so strong you feel faint; the next time you close your eyes you see red. It washes over you in agonizing waves with every bass beat, granting your overheated skin no reprieve, marking hardened little nubs onto the bust of your dress, reducing your knickers into a slick, throbbing mess. It's just what her music does to you.

_Fucked. I'm fucked._ You dare look up to Beca again. She smirks and raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for your approval. You suddenly want to scream at her. Command her to do unexplainable things to you.

But you don't. You do your best to smile despite your dizziness, letting her know you appreciate her efforts ( _a little too much,_ you think ruefully). She almost busts her face open grinning back.

* * *

You've never been a sound sleeper. When you first hear the jiggling of the doorknob from _somewhere_ , you instantly sit bolt-upright, wide awake. The next moment you hear the door to your room swinging open, hitting the wall with a muffled thud, and by this time you're already looking frantically around for anything you can use against –

"Shit!" The panicked voice, at least, is someone you recognize all too well. The expletive is immediately followed by a series of loud thuds.

You swiftly reach for your bedside lamp. Everything is quickly bathed in a dim orange glow. And there's the brash, brooding, unlikely hero of your stupid love triangle, sprawled in the middle of the room, entangled in Doc Martens boots and brown leather jacket.

"Beca, _what the hell?!"_

"I'm drunk!" Beca gleefully announces instead, standing up quickly with a theatrical bow. Based on the careless languidness of her movements, she really is. "Nope. I don't get drunk. I get awesome!"

"What else is new?!" You almost shriek, taking in her disheveled appearance. "You're – aren't you supposed to be at the after party?"

"I was there! It got really wild, Fat Amy broke a keg and Lilly set fire to something at some point –"

"Do you have any idea how much you scared me?!" you screech, still trying to keep your heart from leaping out of your chest. "I thought you'd be home in the morning!"

"It _is_ morning."

"Oh my god, I...that door was locked! No one just enters my room uninvited –"

"Chloe does it," Beca says, dusting herself off carelessly. "Why can't I?"

"Because Chloe doesn't just break in like some cat burglar!" You belatedly realize, judging by Beca's slightly off-focused line of sight, that she's walked in on you barely-dressed for the third time now. You furiously gather the sheets to cover yourself. " _Seriously,_ Beca?!"

Beca looks you straight in the eye, and you could swear her face has suddenly taken on this impish, slightly-sinister, yet unbelievably-mesmeric _leer._ Her voice is husky when she answers. "Well, they're really good boobs."

You feel the heat quickly rise to your face and chest; you indignantly open your mouth, but suddenly no sarcastic reprimands are coming to your head.

"I still can't believe you sleep in your underwear," Beca continues, dispelling your unease with a chuckle; at this, you pull your head far enough out of your ass to finally recover words.

"Yes, because I don't expect pervy midgets to catch me at it!"

"You do everything in your underwear," Beca mutters, before you silence her with a glare.

"Get out."

Beca meekly walks toward the door. "Hey, do we still have pasta? The one you made for lunch?"

"Three a.m. and you're thinking about _food?"_

"Bree, I'm starving. And that pasta was the _bomb_." Beca leans into the doorway, putting on a feigned pout. "Tell me we have leftovers. Please?"

You roll your eyes. Beca's puppy-dog face is nowhere near Chloe's Disney routine, but her attempt at another facial expression other than her smirk is endearing in ways you couldn't even begin to fathom. "There's some in the fridge."

"Cool." Beca doesn't move from the doorway, though, and you're hyper-aware that she's eyeing you again. "Okay. I have another question."

You heave out a sigh. "If I answer it properly, will you leave?"

She nods once, and you're already half-expecting her to ask about food again. But to your slight surprise, Beca walks across the room and points at a corner.

"What's that?"

She's pointing at your professional telescope, covered with a sheet of white cloth. It's one of your favorite possessions, having spent a lot of time stargazing in college on those rare weekends you were free. But you've barely used it in the last couple of years, because _things_ : law school, Jesse and Beca and Chloe, social engagements, new commitments.

"Nothing."

"Hey, what happened to giving me a proper answer?"

_Damn it._ "It's a telescope. A TeleVue Ranger 85, to be exact."

"Hmm." Beca pulls off the cloth to reveal the telescope's silver body. "So this makes stars and stuff look bigger, right?"

"Close enough. Telescopes generally gather more light to enable you to see distant objects you wouldn't normally see with your naked eye. It doesn't magnify Saturn, but you'll be able to see its yellowish shade and rings. It's not always that simple, though. The Ranger has a lot of contrast, but things like narrow band light pollution and heavy chromatic aberration has to be –" you stop before you get ahead of yourself, remembering that these things aren't as exciting for the rest of the populace. "I mean, it makes things clearer, not bigger. Nothing interesting, really."

Beca looks amused. "It's not?"

"Not for most people," you mutter, unsure where this is going.

"I _am_ interested, technical stuff aside. Can I see a planet or something?"

"Why?"

It's Beca's turn to roll her eyes. "Because curiosity?"

"I thought you were hungry."

"I'm not gonna turn down a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a planet just because I'm hungry," Beca grins, reaching for the teal kimono robe behind your standing mirror and tossing it towards you.

"Fine." You start putting on the silk garment, then stop. "How did you know where I keep my robe?"

"You said it yourself, I'm a cat burglar."

"Then you're a lousy one, with all that noise earlier."

"Okay, you caught me. I creep here every night to watch you sleep. When you're out I masturbate to your underwear. Happy?"

"Gross."

And she only laughs before stepping aside, making way for you.

* * *

So you load up the astronomy guide on your phone, fiddle with the telescope for a bit, and finally focus on your favorite celestial object: the moon.

You motion Beca to take over. "You're not expecting some Hubble-level images, right? Because this would probably just look like a gray blob to you –"

"Overthinking again, I see."

That effectively shuts you up, and Beca only chortles before she bends over the eyepiece, falling silent at what she sees on the other side. You've expected this – the same thing had happened to Chloe, when you showed her a nebula on the one time she barged in on you stargazing one spring break. But Beca stays quiet for way too long, that somewhere near the fifteen-second mark, you're already worried that she had fallen asleep.

"Beca?"

"Holy shit, this is fascinating," she breathes out, and you're surprised at the interest in her voice. "I've never really taken the time to just appreciate the moon, you know? All those craters, the bright glow...it's surreal."

You nod appreciatively, quite pleased at her reaction. Beca, meanwhile, finds the moon engaging enough to spend a few more minutes admiring it, which – for someone who is drunk off her face – is an impressively long time.

"Huh."

When you look back at Beca, she's no longer looking through the eyepiece, but at you.

"What?"

Beca returns her gaze to the eyepiece. "Nothing."

You don't push, but she says it a beat later anyway. "It's nice."

"What's nice?"

"The things I'm just starting to know about you."

You don't quite know what to make of that statement, so you only smile at her and continue to fiddle with your astronomy guide, filing it away as one of the things you'd probably – no, _surely_ – overthink about later.

* * *

"...Bree, I told you, go back to bed."

It's four a.m. and you're dozing off on the counter. The last time you checked Beca's nonchalantly eating cold tomato cream pasta in front of you (having resisted all your attempts to reheat the plate in the microwave); she now looks concerned.

You pick up your mug of tea, which fortunately hasn't gone cold, and gingerly take a sip. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to stay up. I know you like looking at me and all, but you'll get a load of this –" she gestures to herself and smirks – "in the morning, okay? Go sleep."

Her made-up reason for keeping you awake at this ungodly hour is partially right – that, plus the fact that you didn't want to pass up any more chances of being there for her. _How unbelievably cheesy, Posen._ But you'd rather run into traffic than admit that to anyone. "Overconfident much? I'm just trying to finish my tea."

"Suit yourself," she sighs, and you realize that she now says it in the same tone as you do. "But hey, next time you wanna tune me out, just tell me to shut up, okay?"

Even in your drowsiness and confusion, you manage to raise one eyebrow. "I fell asleep while you were talking? Sorry. What were you saying?"

"Stacie said you weren't feeling well earlier." Her voice is casual, but she fixes you with a calculating stare. "How about now?"

You shift uncomfortably at the memory of your all-consuming lustfest in the club. "I'm great," you start, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched for your liking. "I just had to drink some fluids, run a cold shower, sleep it off..."

"Sounds like you took care of it yourself, then."

_Oh, totally._ The things you did the moment you got home would probably make Stacie proud. "I did. Thanks for asking." You cross your legs and try to keep your face straight. "Is that why you were in my room earlier?"

"Yep," she replies easily, in no way unabashed.

"Were you going to take care of _it?_ " _Crap, did I just say that?!_

To your relief – and mild exasperation – the innuendo passes right over Beca's head. "Eh, I'm sure you would do the same for me."

"You mean break into your room at two a.m. to check if you're doing fine?"

"Sorry about that," she chuckles, but her tone borders enough on apologetic to satisfy you.

"Well, I had to leave your after party early, so we're even. And for the record, your set was amazing."

"Thanks." Beca's answering smile was modest, even a little shy.

"I particularly liked that part where you sampled _Angels_ by The XX."

"Consider it my way of saying thanks for GTA V." Beca's grin is suddenly cocky. "Okay, did I get your favorite XX song right, or what?"

"You did." You mirror her grin, especially when you see her almost bouncing in her seat while waiting for your answer. "How did you know?"

"Easy. _Angels_ is my favorite XX song too. The lyrics are just...simple and unadulterated devotion, you know?" Beca lets her fork drop, and before you know it, she's singing the first few bars of the song.

_Light reflects from your shadow_

_It is more than I thought could exist_

You pick up the singing from where she left off, your voice echoing in the kitchen after her clear alto.

_You move through the room_

_Like breathing was easy_

_If someone believed me..._

At this point you hold your breath, not daring to sing the next line. But Beca calmly proceeds to finish it for you – to your utter surprise:

_They would be as in love with you as I am_

_They would be in love, love, love._

Her voice fades off in the cool quiet morning, and you're both left in its wake, staring mutely at each other.

"Yeah, damn outstanding lyricism right there," she finally says, forcing her gaze away, her hands suddenly busily gathering the closest items in sight. "Done with your tea?"

You only nod, still trying to process what just happened. And as she picks up your mug and adds it to the pile of used dishes on the sink, absently humming the rest of that blasted song, you watch her with increasing trepidation. _What the fuck does this all mean?_

* * *

" _Hmm, I really have no clue what it means, you know?"_ Chloe says in a singsong voice. _"The sentiment is very, very vague. Damn kids write such complicated poetry nowadays –"_

"Chloe," you laugh, and you hear her barely-contained giggle over the phone.

" _I mean, just listen to that lyric_. They would be as in love with you as I am... _maybe it would be clearer in another language. Ooh, let's try French, since you're from Vermont!_ Ils seraient dans l'amour avec vous aussi. _Does it make more sense now?"_

"You used Google Translate, didn't you?"

_"How dare you!"_ Chloe says in mock anger, before giggling again. _"Okay, I totes did."_

"Knew it."

_"Bree, you're usually so sharp, see? So what the hell is wrong with you?!"_

Her sudden change of tone from cheerful to frustrated throws you off. "What?"

_"She literally told you she's in love with you!"_

"No, she didn't. She sang a few bars from a song we both happened to like –"

_"Bree,"_ Chloe practically growls.

"It can't be that easy, okay?"

_"Gah, it could be,"_ she sighs. _"Okay. I think I know how to handle this. What do_ you _think?"_

"She could be leading me on," you mumble, and you instantly regret the words, mostly due to Chloe's outraged gasp. But you have to know, and so you plod on. "This happens a lot, right? A guy learns that you like him, he doesn't like you back that much, but he still keeps you around for fun. It's a perfectly plausible scenario –"

_"I'm going to stop you right there,"_ Chloe interrupts firmly. " _Beca is not a guy. And Beca is not that kind of person, far from it. Damn it, Bree, you've spent enough time with her to know that she's pretty decent. She doesn't play games. Especially not with someone she obviously respects so much."_

"Well, if it's not that, then she...she could just be very lonely. And I'm around her so much. She could be misjudging her feelings –"

_"So these are your options? You're either on the hook or the rebound?"_ The crude way she reconstructs your statements makes you cringe. _"Has it ever crossed your mind that Beca might finally be seeing you for the wonderful person that you are?"_

You feel your face grow warm, but try your best to not let it distract you. "I try not to assume," you answer, helplessly.

_"Well, babe, now is the time to start. Beca wouldn't ever do all these things for some bimbo that just happened to be around –"_

"Did you just call me _babe_?"

_"You like?"_

"Yes." Now it's not just your face that's warm but your chest too, and Chloe's chuckle on the other side only increases the pleasant feeling.

_"My point being, maybe it's time you just accept that you're pretty adorable."_

"But she could just be lonely," you repeat stubbornly.

_"Does she seem lonely to you?"_

You've seen Beca at her worst – beaten down, miserable, even furious. But with so much going on in her life now – combined with that self-satisfied smirk she had been sporting more often recently (the one you only used to see whenever she was with the Bellas or talking to Chloe) – you're simply forced to admit that Beca is leaps and bounds away from the depressing picture she painted a few months ago. "Hardly."

Chloe, bless her soul, wisely decides not to press further – at this point she knows well enough that she had presented enough arguments for you to form your own conclusions. " _Just so you know, I'd sing you heavily-blatant songs too,"_ she teases instead, before belting out a particularly-whiny song you recognize as The Used's. "Let me be the one who calls you baby all the time..."

"Ugh, of all the romantic songs in the world, you pick that one?"

"Shut up and listen, babe, okay? You know you love it."

That warm feeling is there in your chest again, and as usual, Chloe is right.


	13. Chapter 13

_October_

Living with Beca has its challenges. You don't remember meeting a more mercurial person. In the blink of an eye Beca can jump from challenging to teasing, laid-back to brooding, adamant to apologetic, recklessly confident to carefully guarded.

What amuses you, though, is how quickly you can follow the shift from one mood to another. It feels like a well-timed comedy sometimes, conversations with Beca: you've always intuitively known when to give a sarcastic retort, when to tell her off, when to push, when to be kind, when to shut up.

This is what you've been doing for the last ten minutes as Beca alternated between stern, encouraging and cocky during a capella practice. The girls had invited you to see their set for Regionals, and on this hot Saturday afternoon you're high up the bleachers, being a better observer than you've expected.

For one, Beca's leadership has already met your personal standards a long time ago ( _who would've thought?_ ). There's also the fact that what you've seen today already tops the set they performed for championship last year.

It certainly has nothing to do with that tiny tank top Beca's wearing, which occasionally rides up her waist to show flawless skin underneath. It's not the way her body moves fluidly to the music either – how the toned muscles in her arms flex in execution, how her hips sway and snap to the beat, how beads of sweat drip down to the base of her neck towards the slightest hint of cleavage below...

"Good work, nerds. Take ten," Beca calls out, breaking your reverie. Everyone scrambles to the bleachers for water, but she hangs back to wait as you descend the stairs.

"Nice of you to join us, Bree." She grabs the Gatorade in your hand with a crooked grin and drinks it before you could protest. "Good stuff."

"Get your own Gatorade!" You pry the bottle off her hands.

"Nope. The vending machine's too far, and it's, like, ninety degrees out there."

"Fine." You give back the bottle, too hot to protest, and get immediately rewarded with the resulting view when Beca tilts back her chin to drain the rest of the contents.

"Blondie!" Fat Amy suddenly yells, barreling towards you out of nowhere; you manage to sidestep her, only to be grabbed from behind by Stacie. "We haven't seen you in ages!"

"You had dinner with us yesterday." You extricate yourself from Stacie and exchange quick hugs with everyone else who had gathered around. "It wasn't that long."

"She means practice," Cynthia-Rose explains, offering you a fist-bump. "You were here last – what, August?"

"You should come more often, gorgeous." Stacie drapes an arm around your shoulders. "The view is nice." She pointedly glances at Beca's chest, then at you with a conspiratorial wink.

Beca, fortunately, is oblivious to it all. "Hey, Bree, they're all going to The Garage tonight. I know you said yesterday you're not coming, but I can still put you on the guest list."

"Pass," you answer, to their collective groan.

"Come on, Aubrey, Beca said you've been studying all week," Jessica chides.

"Yeah, Beca said you often forget to eat," Fat Amy adds. "Crikey, how can you forget _eating?_ It's the first and last thing I think about. Like, Bumper who? Psh."

"I can kill a caribou with my venom in six seconds," Lilly mumbles; Stacie cringes next to you.

"Oh, I'm not studying tonight. I'm just staying in," you assure them. It's the first proper weekend you've had in a month, with your preliminary exams just finished, and you've already planned your evening accordingly.

Beca shrugs. "Bree likes her me time."

"Don't get too wasted, okay? Keep Lilly away from fire. Fat Amy, please don't make two guys fight over you again. And you," you narrow your eyes at Stacie, who visibly gulps, "it is _not_ okay to dance topless over the bar."

"But I made forty bucks the last time –"

"No. Seriously, Stacie, _forty bucks?_ No."

"We'll be fine," Beca says reassuringly, reaching out to squeeze your arm. "Stop worrying, babe."

_Babe?_ All eyes swivel towards the two of you so quickly you could swear you heard Fat Amy's neck crick. _This is a thing now?!_

Before anyone could speak, though, Beca only turns to the group like nothing happened, and claps her hands. "Alright, to the whiteboard, everyone. Let's hear what Aubrey has to say about the set."

* * *

You don't see Beca until a little after midnight, when she comes bounding towards you, effectively crashing your _Suits_ TV party as she plops down on the opposite end of the couch.

"Hey."

You evaluate her condition in a glance: exquisite as always, but looking a little worse for wear. "Why are you home so early?"

"I need a break. Playing at the club every Saturday night is great, but gyrating drunks and cheap liquor are things I'm not always equipped to deal with." She points at a tall carafe on the coffee table. "What's that?"

As an answer you hand her your wine glass, from which she takes a long sip.

"It's sangria. Do you like it?"

She nods. "Definitely not cheap."

"I rarely drink, so I make the most out of it. Let's get you another glass."

"Nah, we can share," Beca replies carelessly, handing you the glass and taking the popcorn bowl from your lap in turn; she only smirks at your appalled expression. "Kidding, Posen. I don't wanna crash on your quiet time, and it's cool, I'm going to bed in a bit – mmm, you put caramel _and_ butter on this?"

It's hard to keep your face straight while watching her greedily stuff popcorn in her face. "Dork. You can stay."

"No, really, I just checked in on you." She goes to stand, but you're on to her faster than you would have thought; you grasp her hand, and it's probably the wine already going to your head, but the next words roll off your tongue so easily.

"It's alright. Stay with me."

She smiles, an uncharacteristically-shy one, before gently letting go of your hand. "Okay." She settles back on the couch and reaches for your glass; you instinctively slap her wrist.

"I didn't say you could share –"

"Come on, you and Chloe share all the time." Beca takes the glass anyway, and you roll your eyes.

"Fine."

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" she smirks, draining the glass. "Bree, chill. I don't have rabies or anything."

"I know that, I just..." You pause, cobbling together a quick explanation. "I never thought I'd get to share a glass with anyone again."

Beca's brows crease. "Like, after Jesse and Chloe?"

How she deduced that from your vague statement, you have no idea. But she pulled the words right out of your head – and, in turn, the anxious thoughts you've been trying to push to the back of your mind the previous summer.

"Hey," she says, laying a hand on your knee. You hardly notice getting lost in your own thoughts for a while until she lightly starts drawing circles on your skin, the sensation stirring a vague, yet familiar memory you can't quite put your finger on. "So, uh, what's up with that?"

"It's nothing."

"Yeah, but it's important to you. Tell me."

You sigh. "I was having these thoughts while you were in Baltimore. There used to be four of us in the apartment – you, me, and them. And it was... _distressing_ , how you all just disappeared one by one during the summer. But it's nothing," you repeat, trying to gloss over your moment of insecurity with a small laugh. "I am over it. I just got a little too used to it."

"To being alone?"

"To not sharing a glass." She _may_ be right, but you're too proud to admit that. "Not that I want to get used to it...it's just that this is all new to me."

"Alright," she says, easily. "Well, are you ready to share a glass with someone again?"

You might have just fallen for her a little bit more at that moment, simply for not prying. "Yes," you answer softly, beaming at her. "I'd love to."

"Cool." She refills the glass and hands it to you with a grin.

* * *

On Sunday morning you wake up to an entirely new season – windy, cool, and so misty the light outside is the same shade as your slate sheets. You lounge in the wake of autumn, still half-torn between sleep and wakefulness, seriously contemplating just staying in bed.

There's an enticing waft of toasting bread when you finally decide to head out. In the kitchen, Beca is listening to Miles Davis while drinking coffee, head leaning on one hand, fingers buried in the luxurious hair, loose gray shirt and red gym shorts doing an absolutely good job of showing off the best of her as she blinked lazily to _All Blues_.

Damn it if anyone else is having this fantastic a morning.

You step to the counter and take the opposite seat, taking care not to disrupt the stillness, and she offers you a smile.

"Do me a favor, Bree."

_Oh wow, it gets better._ You raise your eyebrow quizzically, and she continues, "Skip the run. Have breakfast with me."

It's a request you're only too happy to comply with. So you accept the plate of toast she generously butters, because no amount of morning runs will ever give you as much pleasure as Beca's undivided attention, and having another person with that kind of power over you is something you realize you're perfectly okay with.

* * *

Beca insists on trying out GTA V in the living room, and so, with much pointing and manual-reading, you help her set up her PS4 and headphones before retreating to the couch to read Kurt Vonnegut.

A good hour later your Kurt Vonnegut book and her headphones lie forgotten on the coffee table, because apparently, Beca's gaming style is another thing you just can't agree with.

"Screw the gun, just step back a few paces and use a grenade – Beca!"

"Stop yelling, I know what I'm doing."

"You just died, so yes, you obviously do."

"Goddamnit, I hate these car chase things."

"There is a freaking helicopter in the garden and you go for a car? What is wrong with you?!"

"Nothing, Bree. I'm just very distracted by your shrill hovering."

"Don't accelerate while turning – yay, your car burst into flames, see?"

Beca whips around, throwing the controller down on her lap. "Aren't you supposed to be reading, Posen?"

"I can read and watch what you're doing at the same time," you taunt cheerfully, "unlike you and your dreadful hand-to-eye coordination."

"Hey! I have _excellent_ hand-to-eye coordination." The next moment, her indignant expression changes to a sly smirk as she locks eyes with you. "Maybe I should show you."

The sudden drop in her pitch throws you off. "What?"

"...shit."

"Beca?" You start touching her shoulder, but she jumps to her feet before you can even make contact, the movement so fast it catapults the controller to the floor with a loud clatter. It doesn't help with your confusion at all.

"No, uh, it's fine." Beca's already backpedaling towards her room, eyes wide, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "You're f – I mean, I'm fine. Like, fine as in okay, not _fine_ – I just remembered I have to go..." The rest of her painfully-awkward monologue are garbled as soon as she elbows her door open, but you're pretty sure you caught the words "hang myself in embarrassment" before the door slams shut.

_Great._ You massage your temples, willing yourself not to start analyzing where it had all gone wrong. _Fucking great._

* * *

"We have to tell Beca."

On the opposite end, Chloe sighs. " _What is this about, Bree?"_

You launch into a quick explanation of what just transpired, pacing impatiently in the living room all the while. "Now I feel like the other woman, and it's a terrible place to be in. I don't like it. I feel bad. I feel guilty," you finally end, hardly bothering to hide the despair in your voice.

_"Babe, breathe. You're going to give yourself a panic attack."_

"She's thinking of leaving. She's freaking out. I can hear it from her room. I –"

_"That's a little too drastic. No one's leaving."_

"If we tell her, there will be two scenarios. One, she'll be okay with you two dating me. It's very implausible, but in the rare event it happens, she can hit on me all she wants. Two, she'll end up picking one of us, most likely you, which is too bad. Either way, this ends. I'm tired of overthinking, Chloe. Whether she's ever going to stop thinking of me as a friend or not, I don't care anymore."

_"Aubrey, do you seriously mean that?"_

You pause, and then shake your head. "No. No, I don't."

_"Good. Because seriously, if you tell her right now, you think everything's going to be any easier for both of you?"_

You mull it over quickly, trying not to let your emotions get the better of you. "I guess not."

_"Two scenarios? Really?"_

"Fine," you finally concede with a frown. "I was thinking of the theory of probability, where a toss coin results in fifty percent possibility for two outcomes –"

_"Bree,"_ Chloe chides gently, bringing you back to earth. _"It's not the right time, okay?"_

"Is there ever a right time?"

_"Yes. When she doesn't even have to think about being with us both."_

"But what if she just chooses one of us?"

_"We do this again and again,"_ Chloe scolds.

"I know, but it's like we're always taking one step forward and then Beca takes two steps back! She has to be getting on my nerves on purpose! And her utter unpredictability – at this rate, where do I even start planning this!"

_"You can't, baby. You just wait, and that's the beauty of it."_

"What beauty is there in chaos?!" you snap. "I'm a Type A personality, Chloe. Do not ever tell me that again, because I am not the type who _waits_."

_"Well, tough. Do you think all this waiting isn't taking a toll on me too? But I'm doing it, because Beca can't just choose one of us. It shouldn't be that simple for her, like it's just picking between coffee or tea."_

"She'll pick coffee each and every time."

_"And that's because it's too soon_." She didn't even have to ask what you meant; she just takes on a more patient tone and continues. _"Bree, can you at least sit down? Varicose veins, remember?"_

You obediently sink on the couch. "I'm seated."

_"This is exactly why we have to wait, okay? If we tell her now, of course she would pick me. She needs more time with you. She has to see that you have just as much to offer. It can't always just be coffee. One day, she'll have to think of going for tea."_

"Beca hates tea," you mutter.

_"For now. Well, maybe forever, but you are_ definitely _more likeable than tea."_ Chloe chuckles a little. _"Aww, I just remembered how you look like when you curl up and fall asleep on the couch. So cute."_

You could hardly fathom what makes that so cute, or how she could even think of that in this crisis you're having, but you don't want to know. "You'd find something cute about a nest of vipers. Can you just focus for me, please?"

_"Fine,"_ Chloe pouts. _"Listen, you have to trust that I know more about these things. After all, have I ever led you into bad situations, Bree?"_

You roll your eyes. "Never," you admit, a little stubbornly. "But it can't always be like this. Beca can't just run out of the room every time she accidentally hits on me."

_"Let me talk to her. I'll sort it out."_

"No. That's not what I want." You exhale, trying to think of what it is. "You can't always bail her out, Chloe. Make her come out and fix this with me."

_"That just sent a chill up my spine,"_ Chloe murmurs. _"But then again..."_

"What?"

_"...it never takes much for her to open up to you. You get her so well."_

You blink. "I do?"

_"Yes, in a way that even I can't, so go ahead and blush. All I ask is don't be so hard on her, babe."_

"I wasn't blushing! I'll be reasonable."

_"Then consider it done."_

* * *

Beca comes out three hours later, when you've already baked two batches of mini-croissants and scrubbed the entire kitchen clean to let Chloe follow through on her promise. She hovers furtively at the entryway before you notice her out of the corner of your eye.

"Hey," you say in your most casual voice, not looking up from rearranging the spice rack for the fourth time. "There's a few croissants on the oven, help yourself."

She walks over and peeks at the oven's glass window. "A _few?_ Dude, you made a ton of pastry."

"Yes, well, I went a little crazy."

Beca catches on your overly-careful tone and hangs back; you pretend not to notice the awkward silence stretching rapidly between you. When she finally speaks, it's none of the words you were expecting.

"Uh, you wanna go eat them by the lake?"

You drop the salt container to stare at her incredulously. "In this cold?"

"Yeah. We'll sit on the car. I'll bring a blanket, you bring the thermos."

"But I haven't finished arranging the spices –"

"Okay, Martha Stewart," she says, already taking out the trays of croissants, "you _have_ to stop cleaning." She looks up at you and while her expression is relaxed, her blue-grey eyes show apprehension. "We'll make a picnic out of it. You're cool with that?"

There are two things you've realized about Beca this morning.

The first one is how she always catches you off-guard. To be honest, you thought it would be harder than this. But somehow, since the day you started living together, she had blindsided you not once, nor twice, but _all the time_ with her surprisingly-composed, even emotionally-adept ways of handling things.

The second one is that it is very, very difficult to say no to her.

"Fine," you give in, rolling your eyes. "But make sure you bring more of the dark chocolate ones."

"Damn, you made two flavors? Who are you?!"

"Aca-scuse you, I made three."

* * *

"This," Beca manages to get out between mouthfuls of pastry, "is _amazing._ "

It turns out the cold wasn't so harsh after all, and so early afternoon finds you and Beca on a bench in Barden, facing the calm lake. To the few students passing the almost-empty college green, you must be making a comical sight: Beca, huddled under Chloe's overlarge swallow-blue coat, sitting Indian-style while enjoying three croissants at once; and you, legs crossed, drinking tea from a thermos while trying not to fidget in your olive trench coat.

Beca insisted on getting out of the house as fast as possible, and so both of you are in your house clothes. You're pretty sure this is the very first time you went out in a faded shirt and tiny cutoff shorts. _I could die of shame now._ You hope not to run into anyone you know, because anyone passing by would probably think you were naked, what with your bare legs protruding out and all –

"I'm thirsty," Beca complains, eyeing your thermos.

"This is tea."

"Bree." There's a hint of a whine in her voice. "I hate tea."

"Well, if you gave me time to brew coffee, you wouldn't be dealing with this right now." You push the thermos under her nose. "This is Apricot Ceylon. It's not so bad."

She takes a gulp and grimaces. "Ugh."

You roll your eyes while handing her the water bottle which, thankfully, you had enough presence of mind to bring. "You little snot."

Beca only laughs. "Thanks. The ham and cheese croissant was the best."

"Aca-scuse me, that's not ham and cheese, you pleb – it's prosciutto and cream cheese."

"Whatever, fancy-pants. Blueberry was good too. As for the dark chocolate...meh."

"You didn't like it, and yet you ate one all by yourself." You eye her sardonically, but she just laughs some more.

"Well, they're delicious. But you can have the rest."

"You don't like dark chocolate?"

"I'm not fond of chocolate in general."

"Well, it makes sense."

She casts you an amused glance. "You're not gonna be like Chloe and go, 'What's wrong with you?!'"

"No. Some people hate vegetables and some people hate chocolate, what's the difference?"

"Hmm. When you put it that way, yeah, it makes sense." Beca flecks crumbs off her – Chloe's - jacket. "Hey, speaking of Chloe..." She trails off and you wait expectantly, until she makes a small growl of frustration. "Okay, no point skirting around it – I believe there was, uh, some hitting on you earlier." She looks away quickly, one hand scratching her earlobe, and if she didn't look so glum you would have probably teased her about how cute she's being.

"I believe there was going to be some showing of excellent hand-to-eye coordination," you deadpan.

"Sorry," she concedes, now seriously looking anywhere but at you. "I'm an idiot. I respect you and all, I dunno what came over me –"

"I'm a pretty girl, Beca," you interrupt airily, deciding to just let her off the hook, and she quickly responds with a disbelieving snort. "I'd be offended if you didn't at least _try_ to hit on me."

"Yeah, that's exactly what Chloe said." You try to look curious – which apparently worked, as she continues, "She called to check on me, and I just had to tell her."

"And?"

"She said it was reasonable given that you're, well, hot." Beca's ears were red, and you're sure it's not because of the cold. "She also said that the next time I do it, I'd better not panic and just follow through. So yeah, she was very understanding. _Too_ understanding." Her accompanying chuckle is forced and ominous; you immediately pick up on it.

"Beca." She just turns her gaze further towards the lake, but you involuntarily reach out to touch her cheek, gently tilting her face back to you. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing."

"Yes, but it's important to you. Tell me," you say, harking back to last night's conversation, and she smiles slightly.

"I get the feeling that Chloe isn't taking this seriously, you know?" she finally sighs. "Like, she isn't jealous at all. And I'm worried it's because she might...not want me anymore."

"No." The anguished expression on her face tears you apart. "Beca, _no!_ How can you even think of –"

"Because she's so unconcerned! I told her how easy it is being around you, and I'm worried it's because I might be –" Beca shuts her eyes tightly and while you're just _dying_ to hear the rest of that sentence, you will yourself not to push it. "I don't want to lose her, Bree. But it's like she doesn't care enough."

"You're not losing her." You place your hand in her knee, hoping the action would at least give her a shred of comfort. "That's not it at all, okay? She's not unconcerned, and she cares about you so much, you're all we ever talk about."

"Yeah, but what about you and me? I mean..."

You raise your eyebrow expectantly at her.

"...you _are_ attractive, and we're, uh, pretty close," she finishes lamely.

"Listen to me. Chloe and I go way back. Way before the two of you were even aware of each other's existence, we already have each other." Beca leans forward, hanging on to your every word. "We've loved each other for so long that there's so little she could tell me that I don't already know. Don't you think that's enough reason for her not to be jealous?"

She runs a hand through her hair distractedly. "I don't know."

"Chloe dragged me to audition for the Bellas," you elaborate. "We talked once during freshman orientation, and then...she was always just there. She pushed and bumped and sweet-talked her way into being my best friend, despite my initial reluctance."

"Classic Chloe."

"Oh, it gets worse," you chuckle. "She begged our dorm RA endlessly to make her my roommate, after my previous one was busted for selling drugs. She publicly humiliated anyone who dared insult me. She supported me when I filed emancipation from my family. She is the reason why I'm finishing law school debt-free, because her grandfather sued my parents for years of abuse and neglect. She got me through the ugly courtroom sessions; she defended me from my father's cruel words. When I let the Bellas down at the Lincoln Center, she never left my side.

"We've been through some really crazy times. And it's always because she wanted the best of everything for me." _And you're the best of everything_ , you want to add, if only it wouldn't give everything away. "We have a wonderful thing going on here, Beca, and I know Chloe would never want to deny me – _us –_ that, especially if she believes it would be the best for me."

A group of newly-recruited Trebles walk by, led by Benji, who smiles warmly at you as they pass. You wave and return the gesture. But Beca doesn't seem to see them, so lost in thought as she gazes at the grim lake, made gray by the overcast sky.

She finally turns back to you, her expression considerably less clouded.

"Before we all started living together, you were this constantly angry chick, you know?"

You try to catch her eye, to read where this is going, but she returns to gazing meaninglessly around the lake.

"Did you just call me a _chick?_ "

She rolls her eyes. "Bree, seriously, I was just about to compliment you here."

You promptly shut up.

"You were such a freak," she continues. "You always looked at me like I'm shit stuck under your shoe; you had this smile that was so obviously fake because it never varied in every occasion, you talked like everyone's out to get you, you were crazy and neurotic as _fuck_."

She pauses and this confuses you. "Those aren't compliments."

"Getting there." Beca rolls her eyes again, and you barely stifle a laugh because lately it feels like the two of you are always having an unspoken eye-rolling contest, some sort of familiar inside joke you do as effortlessly as your insane amount of bickering. "Then Chloe and I got together, and as it turns out, there's so much more to you than what I thought I knew. The cool things you completely geek out on, your insane brains and guts, the fierce loyalty, the way you always have to take care of everyone...Chloe just loves you so much, and she has very good reasons for doing so. I'm glad to have not missed out on you, Bree."

This is the last thing you expected out of today.

You weren't even aware of the tears until they spill, hot and fast, down to your chin. In a flash, you see Beca's expression turn into concern; she moves closer, and you try to smile to reassure her.

"It's okay. I'm okay," you sniffle, completely aware that you're a mess, but trying to retain your dignity all the same. It's almost impossible. To be handed with this much happiness you don't even know what to do with...there's nothing you want more than to be in her arms, to reward her words with a kiss, to just guiltlessly want her and have her feel just the same. "I never thought you felt that way."

"I like what we have," Beca murmurs. "Friendship." But you don't miss the hint of doubt in her voice, and then she does something that just fucking _melts_ you even more: she slips her hand into yours.

"Friendship," you agree just as quietly, allowing yourself to lean on her shoulder.

* * *

"Arcade Fire is shit," Beca declares on the drive back home, as you sing to _The Suburbs_ on the stereo.

"Say that again!" you scold with a mock gasp.

"What? They're pretentious."

"I'm crashing the car until you take that back."

"So damn pastoral, with those banjos and weepy lyrics and all the hallmarks of indie clichés. Their album, _Reflektor?_ Before you could even listen to the actual music, the amount of unnecessary parentheses in the song titles is enough to kill you. And Jesus, their hipster clothes – for Win Butler to even call himself a rock star with that stupid cow suit? Don't even get me started."

"Their music has that _je ne sais quoi_ that is overwhelmingly nostalgic. Not that you'd know what that means."

"Yeah, you really can't put the quality of their music into words," she says sarcastically, and you're strangely somewhat satisfied that _yes_ , Beca knows her French. " _Bad._ Oh look, I just described it."

"Or maybe intelligent music just goes right over your head."

"Oh, you sweet summer child." Beca unplugs your iPod from the dock and connects her phone instead. "Here, listen to this."

You roll your eyes but indulge her skeptically, letting the first bits of slow synth and the haunting female vocals wash over you.

"But this is Arcade Fire," you comment, after the first minute.

"No, this is Mr. Little Jeans. It's a cover of _The Suburbs_ , better than anything your bongo band will ever hope to accomplish."

The song finishes right before the turn into the driveway for Peachtree Park, and you turn grudgingly to Beca.

"I like it."

"I know you would," Beca grins, as she unbuckles her seatbelt. The next moment, her glee quickly dissipates. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"I told him never to come here. At least, not until you're good anyway."

You follow her line of sight. Sitting on the porch, already eyeing your car, was Jesse.


	14. Chapter 14

"I'll see what he wants." Beca's face is hard as she slammed the car door shut.

"Beca." You hurriedly slip out of the car and grab her by her coat. "It's okay. It's been four months. We can talk."

She exhales, still watching Jesse warily, and then looks back at you. "If he tries anything, holler for me."

"What are you going to do, ring the fire alarm?"

"Bree."

Her expression is so concerned it makes you reconsider all the derisive height remarks in your head. "We'll be fine," you tell her, unable to keep the affection out of your voice. "He's your friend; he's not going to try anything."

"He'd better fucking not," she mutters ominously.

So both of you approach the apartment, where Jesse meets you with his usual boyish smile. Beca, however, only gives him a curt nod before sauntering into the house.

"Hi," he starts. "How is my favorite Bella?"

"Ready to put the Trebles in second place, as always."

"Ouch. Well, I brought that onto myself."

"Small talk was never your strong suit. Why are you here?"

"Right. Um, sorry for just dropping in like this." His smile turns apologetic. "I was hoping we could talk. Nothing serious, don't worry."

"Of course." You lead him inside and direct him to the kitchen. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be great," he said gratefully, taking a seat by the counter. He regards the plate of croissants you placed before him with obvious delight. "Damn, I missed these. You alright?"

"Yes, thank you for asking."

"You sure? You bake when you're stressed." He takes a croissant, letting out a little sigh as he bit into it, before seeing the amused look on your face. "What? We dated for a school year. There was one week when Benji and I lived off all the cakes you baked before your midterms."

"And he thanked me by sending a dove with a note."

"Hey, he actually set the doves free last month! Well, more like our RA ordered him to – the doves attacked Bumper and Fat Amy while they were making out by the lake." You share a brief laugh, and he visibly relaxes.

"Seriously, how are you doing?" he asks sincerely. "I haven't heard much from the Bellas after I called you in Baltimore."

You try to craft an honest answer without giving anything away. "I'm fine. I resolved some personal issues, and working on some more."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Jesse intones.

"How about you?"

"Fantastic. I mean, getting there, but about that..." Jesse scratched his head and you gesture encouragingly for him to go on. "Would it be okay if I start dating again?"

You couldn't help but snort at his nervousness. "Oh, Jesse."

"Damn it. I knew you'd laugh at me."

"I am not, and you are such a gentleman for asking," you reassure him. "By all means, go and date. Woo someone new with your Ferris Bueller quotes."

"You fell for it at some point."

"I'm a better woman now."

He chuckles, looking relieved. "Thanks, Bree."

"I can't believe you were even asking."

"Well, yeah, err –"

You raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Dang it, might as well just say it." He clears his throat. "How about if I date a Barden Bella?"

 _Who is he talking about?_ You come up with a total blank. And you realize, with a little wistfulness, how little you see the other Bellas these days. Bellas are Bellas for life, and the girls have always treated you as an honorary captain: they tell you _everything_. If you had been there often enough, they would have easily told you about Jesse.

But right now Jesse's waiting hopefully for your answer. You may have never loved him, but you have always admired him: he was the first man you've fully trusted, and he is one of the best people you know.

"Again, I can't believe you are even asking. You're free to date anyone, Swanson. Stop taking your ex's feelings into account."

"Really? What about the 'never date Trebles' rule?"

"That rule was absolute rubbish – what was Alice thinking? We are aca-nerds, who else would want to date us?" You roll your eyes. "Also, unless my memory fails me here, _we_ dated."

"Yeah, I figured as much. But think of it as a courtesy call from one captain to another. Bellas and Trebles can date now – agreed?"

"I really don't mind, but I haven't been Bella captain for two years."

"I already asked Beca, and she's cool with it. But the other girls kept insisting that I also ask you for her hand or something. They kinda made you sound like Don Corleone."

"Who's 'her'?" you probe curiously.

Jesse sighs. "Jessica."

The more you think about it, the more it makes sense. Jesse and Jessica have _so much_ in common – their bookcases full of movies is just the beginning. "You can have her hand all you want, Jesse. You look like you need it."

"Did you just make a sex joke?" Jesse laughs. "Bree, you've changed."

"It's Beca. That hobbit is rubbing off on me."

"Come on. You like her."

He says it so matter-of-factly; when you search his expression for any hint of judgment, there was none.

"It's cool," he adds. "I get it. Beca's very attractive."

"Jesse," you finally say, unsure how to explain yourself. You have no idea how he knew – _oh my god, is it that obvious?_ Before you can get into overthinking this, he speaks up.

"You're free to date anyone, Posen. Stop taking your ex's feelings into account."

"I see the irony now," you mutter ruefully.

"Seriously. I'm not mad or anything. Do what makes you happy."

"Really? No judgment?"

Jesse shakes his head. "No. Unless it's weird that your ex-boyfriend is cheering you on? I can stop."

"No, no, it's very kind of you. Jesse – how are you so supportive? And understanding? And most importantly, _real_?"

"I don't know." He's obviously pleased at all the compliments. "But I'm okay, Bree. It's great you feel the same."

You smile at him. "Look at us. So incredibly civil."

"Yeah. Super exemplary and all." He sips his tea. "Elderflower, nice. Don't you usually serve Earl Grey?"

"Elderflower is good for colds. You look like you've been waiting out on the porch for a while. I didn't want you to get sick."

"You care so much, Bree." He regards you thoughtfully. "But with Beca...don't you think people might get hurt? Chloe?"

His tone isn't scolding, merely curious.

"No. I'm... I like Chloe too. And she knows."

Jesse takes this confession with nary a change in his expression. After a beat, he only shrugs. "You've always loved Chloe."

You meet his gaze incredulously. "Unbelievable. You just know _everything_ , don't you?"

"Come on! You're always cuddling with her. And sometimes you look at her with this hungry look on your face."

"Oh my god – _hungry?_ You'd really use that adjective? I cannot be that obvious."

"Don't worry, you're not. I just used my powers of deduction," he smirks.

"What about Beca? It can't be your powers of deduction – we bicker all the time."

"Eh. I've liked Beca, so I just know." He picks up another croissant. "She's an absolute badass. She may have a tough time letting people in – but once you're in, she's also this endearing complete and utter dork. It's hard not to like her when you spend enough time with her, you know? It happened to me. It happened to Chloe. You had it coming."

"Were you this wise when we were dating?"

"You're deflecting, but I'm right," he says knowingly. "But you seem to know what you're doing. So carry on." His tea and business finished, he stood. "I gotta get going. Thanks for the food."

You see him to the door, and there's another brief moment of awkwardness as you both hover at the doorway, looking uncertainly at each other.

"It's nice seeing you," you tell him. And you hug him goodbye, surprising even yourself. He, in turn, breathes in the top of your head, before catching himself and stepping back.

"Oops, I swear I wasn't being creepy. Sorry. Old habit."

"It's alright."

He smiles and turns to go.

"Jesse, wait." You catch his arm. "I owe you an apology."

He views you with chocolate-brown eyes, and you take a deep breath before plodding on with the aforementioned apology. "You tried your best. But what I feel for Beca...and Chloe...is on an entirely different spectrum. I never thought I could be capable of this much love and affection for anyone."

Jesse nods, waiting for you to go on.

"You're a wonderful person. You could have been selfish, but you chose to offer me a way out. And I...I was being very selfish until the very last minute, when I couldn't break up with you fast enough. But please know that I genuinely cared about you. I couldn't be more grateful for all the kindness you've showed me. It broke my heart everyday to lead you on, and I'm sorry."

He looks down on his feet and exhales.

"I'm sorry it took this long."

"Doesn't matter. Thank you." He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. "Are we friends?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll see you around."

* * *

You're hardly surprised to find Beca sitting in your office chair when you go back inside.

She's amusing herself by spinning the chair around on its axis – _this endearing complete and utter dork,_ Jesse's voice plays in your head – but you find there's no need to stop her: she quickly fixates on you the moment you enter.

"So...?"

You take off your coat and climb into bed. "So?"

"What happened?" Beca's tone was mild, but when you finally glance at her the expression didn't match – she seemed irritated.

"He asked permission to date Jessica."

Beca blinks. "What?"

"You weren't expecting us to get back together, were you?"

"What? No." But Beca looked significantly calmer as she rolls the chair right next to you. She watches you pick up the only book in your bedside table, open it, and then put it back, your mind too overworked from trying to process so many emotions. "You okay?"

You flash a quick smile. "I'm fine."

"You look bothered."

She didn't sound like she was going to stop talking about it, so you drop the book and turn to face her. "I was smiling, how is that 'bothered'?"

"You had the crazy eye thing going on."

"Aca-scuse me, what _even_ is that?"

"When you do the, uh," Beca gestures to her own face and smiles lopsidedly before pointing to her eyes, which didn't lose its neutrality. "You're smiling but your eyes have this intense simmering thing going on. The crazy eye. It's scary."

"If it was that scary you'd be scurrying out of my room by now."

"Damn it. I knew I shouldn't have given you those compliments." She turns the chair around and wheels for the door, but you pull her back before she can go too far.

"Where are you going? With _my_ chair, nonetheless?"

"Oh." Beca scratches her earlobe with a sheepish grin, and wheels back. "I thought you were dropping a hint."

"Beca, I do not drop hints. When I want something, I say it."

"Please. All women drop hints."

"Not me."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? You sounded –"

"I want you here."

Beca leans back on the office chair, smirking. And while _you_ are the reason she's really pleased right now, she's also so smug you wish she'd topple over.

"See my point?" you prompt casually. Seriously, with the ridiculous amount of involuntary affection you've been showing, it would be pretty impossible for her not to at least know _that_. "Contrary to dropping a hint, I told you what I wanted."

"Sorry," she shrugs, "can you say it again, really slowly? It never gets old for me, you know."

"Oh my god, how are you so full of yourself?"

"Pshaw. You want me." Beca's eyes are bright and mischievous in the gloom of late afternoon _._ "Bree?"

You've been quiet for too long. You re-adjust your facial features into your haughtiest expression. "Sorry. I completely zoned out on your bullshit."

Beca rolls her eyes. "So. Jesse. Did it bother you?"

You could only shake your head at her complete inability to mince words, but it's also nice that she wanted to talk about you. "No. I was even surprised that he cared to ask. Did you know about it?"

"Jesse and Jessica? Yeah, he asked me the same thing last week."

"Hmm." Satisfied with this information, you roll to your back. "I'm happy he's moving on."

"Yeah, well. Are you?"

"You know very well the answer to that."

You thought she'd be embarrassed, but she only sports the same self-satisfied expression as earlier. "Whoops."

" _So_ full of yourself."

"Nothing else is filling me."

And cue the long-overdue embarrassment. Beca's eyes widen a little at her inappropriate slip. When she speaks, though, it's only to curse herself under her breath. "Ugh, fuck me."

You couldn't help but tease – you rarely get the chance to turn the tables on Beca Mitchell, and you sure as hell wouldn't pass it up. "Is that an invitation?"

You're rewarded with a roguish smirk. "You really want to play that card?"

"You're too chicken to do anything about it."

"Careful, Bree. You're already on the bed."

"Please. You can barely handle hitting on me by accident, what makes you think you can handle me on a bed?" God, you're actually exchanging sexual innuendos without her freaking out. Her eyes never leave yours; the curl of her lip is all kinds of defiant and arrogant and just simply fucking _maddening._

"You know I'm bad with words. But I make up for it by being better at other things."

It's stifling hot. Halfway through October, despite the cast of gray fog upon the windows and the chilly late-autumn dusk setting in, your room is stifling fucking hot.

"I hope one of them is being safe in that chair," you challenge, through parched lips.

"What's wrong with this chair?"

"Nothing yet." You're barely aware of lowering your voice to a deliberate whisper. Beca hangs on to every word, mesmerizing you with her full attention. "Did you know I passed my Bella auditions with a chair routine?" You never even knew you had this much brazenness – you only know it's scorching you, somewhere deep below your navel, and it's short-circuiting your thoughts _so much_ you could hardly articulate anything else into words. "Doing _it_...on a chair...would be too easy."

* * *

And there it is. No longer just innuendo. A solid proposition so _subtle_ you couldn't be more proud of yourself.

And Beca…Beca considers. She searches you with an unwavering stare. You meet her eyes, and you see everything: the movement of her chest as she takes one deep breath, the slight parting of her mouth as she lets it go, then rinse, repeat.

Finally, after a few excruciating seconds, she stands.

"You're all talk, Aubrey."

She kicks the office chair aside, the clatter unusually loud in the stillness of the room. And she advances. Motionless with anticipation, you could only wait as she takes one step and then another, until she finally erases the gap between you.

"If I call your bluff..."

She lithely crouches next to you until her gaze is leveled with yours.

"...you wouldn't know what to do."

And she's so close you could feel each feverishly-murmured word brushing your lips.

* * *

And then, just fucking then, the fucking doorbell rings.

The insistent sound evaporates all overheated air between you. Beca visibly deflates. With one last longing look, she exhales and retreats to the door.

"I'll check it out," she mutters darkly.

And you're left alone in the growing darkness, reeling from the heady rush of that last five minutes, hoping against hope you wouldn't hyperventilate yourself to death. You wrap the sheets over your flushed skin and shut your eyes. _Breathe. Breathe._

And it's just so fucking difficult. Your damn body still hasn't caught up on the memo that _nope, this is not happening._ Your nipples are still a hard outline against your shirt. The excruciating source of desire between your legs still slick, pleading for a probing finger, an attentive mouth, a desperate release.

The blasted doorbell is still ringing. You latch on to the repetitive chime, trying to reconcile your daily-programming version with this – this _wanton_ woman, paralyzed with lust.

* * *

Little by little, rationality returns. Why is the demonic fucking doorbell still ringing? Annoyed, you force your wobbly legs to move, and do your best to tiptoe to the hallway.

You spot Beca hunched over the kitchen sink, face dripping with icy water as she takes in rapid breaths.

"Fuck," she's hissing to herself. "Holy, fuckity, fucking _fuck."_

You slip away unnoticed and finally get around to the damned door. On the other side is Fat Amy; behind her you could see Stacie by the swing set, chatting with your neighbor's twelve-year-old grandson.

"Why so long?" Fat Amy whines as she sauntered in, oblivious to the fact that she just interrupted what could have been your first semblance of sexual intimacy in five months. "Winter is coming!"

"Why are you here?" you ask, mostly successful at keeping the exasperation out of your voice.

"Benji said you have croissants," Stacie says as she jogs over. "Fat Amy had to check it out."

"That doesn't explain why _you_ are here."

"I'm consulting with the lesbian Jedi master," she says, giving you a surprisingly-innocuous kiss on the cheek. "I've decided to eat oysters again. But the last time I've had them was a year ago, so I need a refresher course on how to lovingly tease them open, how to best slurp up that salty, salty nectar, how to devour that delicate quivering flesh within…"

You can't help but shudder. "Beca's in the kitchen. Go horrify her with your marine biology knowledge."

"You know I'm talking about vaginas, right?"

"Ugh! I knew, you didn't –"

"Because I told you." Stacie winks.

"I can't even –"

"Exactly. I'm having a sexual crisis only Beca can resolve."

"You and me both," you mutter to yourself, closing the door.

* * *

_"_ _This is good."_

As soon as Fat Amy and Stacie cleared out, you called Chloe. You had just finished giving her the blow-by-blow account of everything that had happened since your last conversation – Jesse's visit, your reconciliation with Beca at the lake, and a full disclosure of the interesting episode at your bedroom.

Chloe's response, so serious and decisive even over the phone, sends goosebumps up and down your skin. "It is?"

_"_ _You're not friend-zoned! She's attracted to you, Bree!"_

"She practically said she was horny. What if she is really just horny?"

 _"_ _Beca wouldn't have engaged in a verbal spar with you if she was just horny. Bad with words, remember? But she did her best to actually_ lure _you. She spoke your language."_

You mull this over for a few moments. "I guess."

 _"'_ _I guess'? Come on,"_ Chloe laughs. " _You know what you've omitted from your story? The fact that you were seduced. Big-time."_

"It was honestly impressive," you confess forlornly. It was ridiculous, and definitely hard to admit, how you've been had with less than five lines.

But you're the type who gives credit where it is due. So yes, fine – it was impressive. _Very_ impressive.

 _"_ _Was it hot?"_ Chloe prompts.

"Chloe!"

 _"_ _Oh, who are you kidding? You get off on arguments between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. And that book of letters by Henry Miller to Anais Nin. And that talky Chinese movie,_ In the Mood for Love? _More like_ In the Mood For – _"_

"Can you not ruin one of my favorite films for me, like what you did with Sam Smith?"

 _"_ _All I said was, 'Bree, can you imagine us grinding to_ Latch _?' I didn't know it would give you the jollies –"_

"Oh my god. Fine, I get the point; I like dirty talk. So sue me."

_"_ _So say it! You loved it."_

You roll your eyes. But you like Chloe too much, so you relent anyway. "It was hot."

Chloe squeals. _"Tell me the story again."_

"No! I am not going to have you masturbate to that, you dirty bird."

 _"_ _Be right back, I have to look up_ Titanium _…"_

"Beale!"

 _"_ _Alright, alright,"_ she hums, in that little breathe-laugh of hers. _"Bree."_

"Yes?"

_"_ _I want you to know that if it happens to you and Beca again, I'd be okay with it."_

"You mean _it_ as in…actual sex stuff?"

 _"_ _Yes, actual sex stuff,"_ she replies good-naturedly. _"Consider it my early birthday gift."_

You blink, not immediately realizing what she meant, and then it sinks in. "Oh! Chloe, I've been so busy..."

_"…_ _you forgot your birthday again? Aww, Bree. It's in two weeks! You should really take a break once in a while. Have Beca stretch you out…"_

"If there's any stretching that would ever happen between us, I doubt I'll be the one getting it."

 _"_ _Uh-huh. Well,_ _I'm glad you're confident, but you have no idea_ at all _what you are in for."_

You raise an eyebrow. "With that height? Not much."

 _"_ _We'll see."_ Her tone is blasé, although you could tell she was smirking. _"About your birthday, babe. What do you want to do?"_

"I know what I _don't_ want to do – a surprise party."

She huffs in mock consternation. _"Bree, I love you, but you really have to let that one go."_

And you know you're both remembering the surprise birthday party Chloe threw for you during your freshman year, being the well-meaning but totally-clueless roommate that she was. Back when you still found her strange.

The long and short of it was it was a disaster. That had been a very long day that began with a horrible call from your drunken father and ended with more yelling from then-Bella captain Madison, and coming home to a bunch of well-meaning college friends was the last straw. You bolted, and Chloe, alarmed but unfazed by your tearful exit, had followed you to the deserted quad with alcopop and a slice of cake.

And she remained unfazed during your entire meltdown, complete with sobbing and screaming _. I hate surprises, I don't need to be taken care of, can't you see I just want to be left alone?_ Her only reply was: _I'm sorry. Eat some cake, you'll feel better._

You eventually calmed yourself enough to eye the aforementioned cake, realizing you've eaten nothing all day. _You didn't bring me a fork. C_ hloe rolled her eyes cheerfully: _you said you didn't need to be taken care of._

Halfway between stuffing your own face with your bare hands, all qualms of germs and bad etiquette forgotten, she winked at you and added: _I make for a clingy friend, but I can get you more cake._ Maybe it was the hunger. Maybe it was the absurdity of eating cake on the grass with mascara running down your cheeks. But it made you laugh.

 _"_ _You enjoyed that birthday,"_ Chloe teases.

"I did. Didn't you promise me more cake?"

_"_ _You started baking more after we became close! But I digress."_

"I haven't really thought of what to do on my birthday."

_"_ _Here's a suggestion: why don't you take Beca to one of those dreamy Airbnb tree houses and fuck her brains out –"_

"Chloe Marie Beale, I swear to God…"

 _"_ _I haven't gotten any action in four months,"_ she says, sadly.

You couldn't help but snort. "I sympathize."

_"_ _Will you think of me while you do it with Beca? Let me be there in spirit. I'd be, like, a really hot spirit."_

This earns her your full laugh. "Oh my god, Chloe."

_"_ _Seriously, there will be cobwebs down there by Thanksgiving."_

"I'll see what I can do. Now are you done with the sex jokes?"

 _"_ _Yes, I'm sorry. Your birthday,_ ma cherie?"

"I don't know what to do yet. But it's definitely going to be something with the girls." You think of an activity the Bellas can enjoy – something different than the usual karaoke and drinking games, considering the weather and –

 _"_ _That sounds great! Then do something you really like,"_ Chloe is saying. _"It's your birthday. Don't overthink it."_

"But I don't want you girls to get cold, or –"

_"_ _If you decide to go to the beach in winter, they'll come. Because you are infinitely adorable and they love you."_

You snort. "Now that I think about it, Amy was telling me earlier about this lodge near Smithgall State Park. The Lodge of Fallen Leaves. I should look it up. But I hope I could go stargazing, we can hike, maybe even hunt rabbits…"

_"_ _Oh, not that barbaric sport again."_

"You said I could do whatever I wanted."

_"_ _Yes, but ideally not at the expense of living creatures!"_

"Chloe, are you coming?"

Her long silence was enough. And for a moment, you don't quite know how to hide the crushing feeling somewhere in your chest.

 _"_ _I'm sorry."_ She sounded close to tears.

"It's…"

Well, it definitely wasn't _okay._ You haven't had a birthday without Chloe in the past six years. Even now you look around your bedroom and spot all her birthday gifts: the kimono robe, a pair of binoculars, a leather-bound journal, a limited edition of Neil Gaiman's _The Sandman._

"Please don't cry," you say instead.

It doesn't help. Chloe inhales sharply, like she was trying to bite back a sob _. "Your birthday is right in the middle of my prelims week,"_ she mumbles.

"I'm not mad, it's just…it's going to be really different without you."

_"_ _I'll make it up to you, I swear. I've already told my parents I'm spending Thanksgiving in Atlanta. We'll have a day that's just you and me. Okay?"_

Thanksgiving. One more month to go without Chloe.

You've gone through your entire life doing all sorts of elaborate steps just so you never have to wait. Posens simply do _not_ wait. But with Chloe and Beca, there are no shortcuts. You could really only step back and hope for the best: hope for the quicker passage of time, and hope for Beca to make up her mind.

You'll wait. And you'll do your best to rein in your own misery. "Okay." And, more softly, "I miss you."

A pause. So many little things you're just noticing about Chloe Beale, this being one of them: that slow, hopeful quiet inhale she does right before she's about to express something profound.

 _"_ _I miss you too,"_ she exhales.

* * *

_November_

You had expected Beca to never, ever bring up the topic of that steamy October afternoon. And she doesn't disappoint; in fact, she had been so good at pretending it never happened that after a week, you've convinced yourself it never happened as well.

You're still top of your law class after the grueling prelims. And the Bellas can't stop talking about your upcoming birthday weekend at the lodge. But all you can think about is the distance, the way Beca imperceptibly steps back whenever you're left alone together, the way she couldn't quite meet your eyes.

The strain doesn't get to you. You lose your notes for mock trials and run an extra hour more than you should every morning and at one point even leave the stove on, but seriously, these have nothing to do with Beca Mitchell at all.

* * *

 _"Really?"_ Chloe asks skeptically, and already you can see this conversation cutting down the entirety of your scheduled twenty-six-minute afternoon nap. _"It doesn't bother you?"_

"I'm fabulous, so no."

_"Do you want to talk to her about it?"_

"No. I expected her to ignore this. I can't say I'm pleasantly surprised."

 _"She's not ignoring it, she's just really busy this week. She's working on something with Luke and Paul, plus Bella rehearsals,"_ she explains reasonably. _"She'll come around."_

"Has she talked to you about it?"

_"No, but this is Beca, Bree. Trust me, she's thinking about it as much as we do."_

"Maybe it's a one-off."

_"It's not. She's just being stubborn."_

"Honestly, Chloe, I don't even know what's the end game here."

 _"You and I already know she wants you back,"_ she replies patiently. _"And she needs to be okay with it. That's the end game."_

* * *

It doesn't help that the stupid fucking hobbit flits in and out of the apartment faster than smoke, completely apathetic in those tight skinny jeans and elegantly mussed-up hair and –

"Bree. Bree. Bree. Aubrey."

You're so caught up with internalizing the little piles of case notes and briefs on the coffee table, you hardly noticed Beca sit on the opposite end of the couch.

"So we've come to this?" You swat off the foot hovering dangerously near your shoulder and glare at her. "You're so comfortable with me now that you're just going to nudge me like a dog or something?"

"Are you mad or just hungry?"

"If you're hungry, there's some leftover soup in the fridge."

"Noted. But I was hoping you could help me out with something else." Beca nonchalantly turns her laptop towards you. There are knobs and oscilloscopes on various little screens; this must be her mixing software.

"What should I be looking at?"

"Hang on." Beca stands and takes her bulky headphones from the coffee table. You're weirded out when she steps behind the sofa, but she only slides the headphones down on your head, fingers nimbly adjusting the ear cups to a snug fit.

She reaches around to type on the laptop. And you don't dare look at her face or even move, but you're pretty sure her breasts pushing on the back of your head counts as unnaturally _close_. The closest you've come to touching in two weeks, but who else is counting?

Beca, as always, is completely oblivious. She moves the cursor purposefully, unaware that the smell of vanilla and berries is threatening to undo you at any moment.

"Ready?" she breathes, warm air touching back of your neck.

You have no idea where this is going. "Yes."

She presses the spacebar, and leisurely beats fill your ears. Lo-fi synths and steel drums follow. The lilting bass hook is catchy, and you do your best to recognize the tune, but thirty seconds into the dreamy textured track and nothing comes to mind.

It's only when the female vocals come on that you realize what this is.

"Beca."

"Mmm?"

"You recorded an original song."

Her reply is a low purr and you feel it vibrate behind your head. "I did." Her hand, the one from the laptop, casually falls on your right shoulder. "And you're the first one to hear it."

* * *

The song is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's electronic, airy, sultry; at times it was even delirious. The lyrics have simple but surprising profundity. Beca croons brilliantly-deranged metaphors on temptation and going in circles and wanting things one can't have with a bittersweet passion you didn't even know she had the depths for.

You used to scoff at the ridiculous amounts of coincidence in movies, when the protagonist goes through some sort of drama and stops, at the right time, to hear the perfect song for his predicament playing in the background. But today, your pulse only races and races as each new line reveals itself. Because it pretty much sounds like this song is about _you._

* * *

> _I drift in and out, you wonder what I'm all about_
> 
> _But I don't even know, I've become_
> 
> _Forever changed, with nobody to explain_
> 
> _The things I didn't know_
> 
> _Shining up, setting up, telling myself, 'turn it around',_
> 
> _The green lights shining_
> 
> _Shine up through the growing up_
> 
> _I'm tired of the fooling around, but hey_
> 
> _Now when I'm low, I feel high_
> 
> _You know I've got a heart of lead, I feel light_
> 
> _Even when I know that it's wrong, it feels right_
> 
> _And even though I know that I'm low, I feel high_
> 
> _And even when the morning comes, I need the night_
> 
> _When I blame it on the one that I love, it ain't right._

* * *

For some reason you're reminded of the day you met.

Posens do not believe in premonitions. But that morning you woke up in a feverish haze, and you just _know,_ with unshakeable clarity, that something was going to change. You dressed your best, headed to the fair with Chloe, and there was Beca: five foot two of arrogance and bad choices.

You were determined to hate her. _We played the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre, you bitch._ What a shining demonstration of true love. By the time she joined the Bellas, you didn't even know what the fuck you wanted out of Beca Mitchell – all you knew was that you wanted to take her down. That strange malicious excitement you got over the shouting matches, the kick you got coming up with all the colorful insults. You still lose sleep over it sometimes.

If anyone back then dared to point it out as sexual tension, you probably would have hanged yourself in embarrassment.

Then Chloe called dibs on her, and you thought it would be the end. You'd never have her. You'd never even have Chloe, because you lost her to Beca in this complicated, lousy mess you've unknowingly created for yourself.

To think that you and Chloe wanted each other all along. To think, after all the circumnavigating, that you and Beca had almost kissed last month. To think you could even have space in your heart for both of them.

Your father was wrong. People _will_ surprise you.

* * *

"It's amazing."

Beca moves to sit back on the couch – the furthermost end, and you're painfully apart, again. She's searching your face with intense blue eyes.

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, right?"

"No! Beca, I'm seriously impressed. This song isn't just catchy; it has this – this _remarkable_ amount of complexity and honesty to back it up. I've never heard anything like it before."

"Really?

"Really. It has so much depth. That sudden change of melody is nice – they just build, and build, and lead to this sublime chorus. It's like time-warped, psychedelic Prince."

She stares at you thoughtfully and it's not doing you any favors.

"Am I rambling?" you ask self-consciously.

"No, no," she reassures quickly. "Just…I didn't expect you to have such a positive reaction."

"Why not?"

"I dunno." She shakes her head and smirks. "Prince, huh?"

"Oh my god, have I told you this story? One time we sang backup for Prince, and his butt is..."

"…so small you could fit it in one hand. Chloe told me, you pervs."

"If you were there, you wouldn't have been able to look anywhere else." You smile at her. "So…you just produced your first track. How was it?"

"Honestly? A pain in the ass," she answers a little ruefully. "Paul finally agreed to let me use his studio for free. But I could only use it on weekdays from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m., just when I have uni. When I worked my way around it, I then had to beg him to teach me how to use his studio setup...it was one problem after another."

"You put all the elements together by yourself, from scratch?"

"Yeah. It took a while. But I've done maximum effort here, and now it's time to show it to someone else." She shifts closer until she's in the middle of the couch, and you sort of dip into her space. "I showed you first because I know you're very objective. You're being objective now, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. I really value your expertise here, so I'm going to ask you some more questions, okay?"

"As long as you keep in mind that I am in no way a producer, then okay."

She rolls her eyes with amusement. "What did you think of the intro?"

"The beat wasn't really anything new, but the vocals there were a great hook."

"Is the melody memorable? Can you remember any of it?"

With pleasure. You hum a few bars of what you assume is the chorus, and the corners of her mouth turn up like you've somehow impressed her.

"What about the lyrics?"

Her clinical tone doesn't change, but she's scratching her earlobe. Her tell. And it hits you: this is Beca, wanting you back. Slowly coming to terms with it.

"The lyrics are simplistic, but I like that about them. The frustration, the desire…it's all there."

She slowly exhales. "I wrote them myself."

"I know."

And you smile. To let her know you're perfectly okay with it.

* * *

Of course that's when your phone rings. On cue as always, the cosmic jokes of the universe: it keeps pushing you and Beca together, only to pull you apart whenever you're about to make headway. Unbelievable.

Beca frowns at the tinny sound coming out of your pocket. "Maybe you should get that."

You fish out your phone, doing everything you can not to just hurl it across the room. You don't recognize the number and for a split second you debate on whether to answer the damn call.

You relent in the end. But this better be fucking important enough to interrupt your big moment with Beca Mitchell. _Or else._

"Aubrey Posen speaking."

"At ease, soldier."

Three words. Three familiar words from so long ago, spoken with a malicious rasp borne out of so much cigarettes and anger. Your subconscious recognizes the voice even before your mind could; it turns all your blood into ice, at the same time pumping you with so much adrenaline you practically have to choke your next words out.

"Father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics are from LA Priest's Lady's In Trouble With The Law, with a few modifications. Check it out, it's excellent.
> 
> Guys, the end is really near. Like, three-or-four-chapters-more near. I apologize for not being able to publish sooner than I should. Thank my upcoming birthday for this new chapter, because I swore to myself (and my rabid reader-reviewer girlfriend) that I'll update this before I turn twenty-four. That said, I'll do my best to finish this fic before I turn twenty-five. (Just kidding.) There's been a lot of changes in my life since Chapter 13, but I assure you I'll be back with Chapter 15 within the next two months.
> 
> Next up: Aubrey's birthday at the lodge. Poll question: Should Beca and Aubrey bang? :)


	15. Chapter 15

That same voice, when you were seven, taught you that you were never good enough.

"Father, I won second place in the writing competition!"

"That's all you can be proud of?" You were in his study, and he kept on writing in his ledger, barely even looking at you. It was more than enough to make your confidence falter. "Andrew and Jake took down a deer today. Compare that to your meager achievement."

You straightened your spine despite the sinking feeling in your chest. "Sir, I am excelling in my academic studies."

"You were second. I'd hardly call that excelling." Major James Alastair Posen finally regarded you with cold green eyes.

"I did my best, sir. But I believe that next time, I can –"

"Don't you get it, soldier? Second place is worthless." He turned away, disapproval deeply etched in his face. "You are worthless." The words already stung enough, but he wasn't done. "Not that I'm surprised. You're a woman. You'd never really amount to anything."

And it wasn't the last time he said that.

* * *

Major Posen was well-respected in the rural backwater shire you came from. He was a gilded war veteran, owned a chain of hunting gear shops, and took his family to church on Sundays. He could even be a pastor himself, with his robust congeniality and fanatical penchant for inspirational quotes.

Within the four walls of his house, however, he was nothing short of despicable. You knew this as early as eleven. Blame your desperate need for approval, but by this time you practically ran the house by yourself, what with your mother spending her days in a booze-filled stupor.

"Are you trying to kill me, you stupid cunt?!"

This at the family dinner table, the one time you accidentally spilled soup down his lap. You glanced at your mother, pleading wordlessly for her protection. She merely poured herself some more bourbon, eyes too glassy to notice anything else. Your two older brothers, Andrew and Jake, averted their gaze. They lived to please your father through sports and hunting. To them, you might as well be a doormat.

"I'm sorry, Father. Let me –"

Before you could even finish he had stood up, his hulking six foot five countenance towering over you. The next moment he delivered a powerful backhanded slap to your cheek – bright spots appearing in your vision as you staggered to the ground, the soup tureen flying out of your hands.

It wasn't the first time he hit you. And it wasn't the last.

* * *

"Whore!"

Fifteen. You didn't even know what it was that time. All you knew was your father's fury, his beefy hands slamming you to the wall the moment you walked in the door, knocking the breath out of your lungs. His crushing grip, the nails digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open.

"Wh-what did I do, sir?" you choked out, trying to keep your voice from trembling. It was futile. Even your own legs wouldn't support you; only his hand braced you from crumpling to the floor.

"I told you to come home before six! How dare you disobey me?"

"Father, I had to finish a project with my study group – I asked permission from Mother –"

Just then your mother appeared in the foyer, wearing her abominable stained bathrobe. "She did not," she lied flatly, shuffling towards the kitchen.

Major Posen decided just then that he didn't like the look of shock on your face. The stinging smack of his right hand left behind a ringing in your ears. _Do not cry. Do not cry._

"You think I didn't see you being walked home by the Calhouns' boy? You wanna open your legs to that damn farmhand?"

"No, sir, he was only being nice to –"

The second slap, more thunderous this time, had you tasting blood as it cut your lower lip open.

"Do not lie to me!" he roared, face twisting with hatred as he shook you like a rag doll. "I will not have a whore in my house!"

These words, coming out of your own father's lips, couldn't be further from the truth – but they broke the last shred of your resolve. You retched. He knew it was going to happen, and he savagely threw you to the ground, eyes gleaming with cruel triumph as you emptied the contents of your stomach with gut-wrenching ferocity.

"That's right, you dumb bitch, that's all you're ever good at," he mocked. "Why do I even bother sending you to school? Nobody fucking cares about you. You're nothing. Nobody."

* * *

Everyone in the neighborhood knew that Major Posen hit his children on a daily basis. But for roughly eighteen years, no one dared intervene. And so, for eighteen years, you believed him.

* * *

 _"_ _Can't I check on my daughter every once in a while?"_ your father sneers, and already this taunting display of concern is starting to make you sick to your stomach. _"You're gonna be celebrating your birthday real soon. What are you, twenty-four, twenty-six?"_

A few years ago your lawyer explained what to do under these circumstances. Detailed instructions, probably saved in one of his emails somewhere. You're a law student, for fuck's sake. But your thoughts are in disarray and the growing sense of dread is not helping this at all. "You're not supposed to contact me," you manage to get out.

 _"_ _Nobody tells me what to do."_ His voice has taken on a hard edge, and you just know he's a few moments away from becoming viciously aggressive. _"How's law school? Think you're too good for St. Albans now, huh, you useless bitch?"_

But you could no longer speak. There's only overwhelming terror, one you haven't felt in years, seizing your chest like a vise. The sensation was so painful you could hardly draw out a breath. The images and sounds rush back before you know it, becoming all too real as your father explodes, calling you every name in the book as he unleashes his temper. _Bitch._ He took the entire family on a hunting lodge once. He was so furious you shot a cottontail rabbit without any help from the hunting dogs, he locked you in a bedroom for the rest of the trip. _Whore._ The day before your junior prom he hit you so hard he fractured an eye socket. _Cunt._ That time he told Andrew he'd shoot you himself if you weren't taking care of his hunting dogs. _Worthless._ His sadistic leer every time he watched you puke your guts out, his hand poised to strike…

When a strong hand grips your arm you instinctively recoil, shrinking away until you're trapped at the end of the couch. Making yourself as small as possible. Awaiting the blow.

Then Beca's face appears in your blurred vision.

Her expression is strangely pained, but it was only for a moment. She tugs the phone away from your clammy hands. Her face acquires a contorted mask of rage; yet her voice is dangerously quiet as she confronts the voice on the other end.

"Mr. Posen." She's practically forcing the syllables between gritted teeth. "This is a clear violation of your restraining order. I'm recording this call and you can bet I'm sending it to Abraham Beale right away. Are we done here?"

She listens to your father's belligerent reply, her livid expression becoming darker and darker by the second.

"You call yourself her father after everything you did to her? You should stop. Because as far as the law is concerned, Aubrey is done with you." She lets out a mirthless laugh. "You're never going to hurt her again. And you," she savors the next words contemptuously, "can go fuck yourself."

* * *

"Aubrey."

You're still curled up in a ball at the end of the couch, for what felt like hours.

"It's okay. It's over." Beca's voice held no trace of her anger a few moments ago.

"How did you know what to do?" you ask blankly.

"I asked Chloe. Thought I should know, in case…" she gestures to your phone, now on the coffee table.

"You did well."

She tries on a smile. It comes out apprehensive. "You did, too."

And that does it. It starts as a gurgle in your throat; you could only wait helplessly as it builds up to a sob, and then more, and harder, until your whole body is reduced to a breaking, weeping mess. You frantically suck in air, desperate to break through the torrent, but it's futile. The floodgates you've struggled to hold back your entire life are violently wrenched open and you're sinking. The torrent is just too much.

Beca reaches for you and you don't want her to. You don't want her to know about this unsavory part of your life. To have her see the terror so commanding it brings you to your knees. She doesn't need to know just how completely fucked-up you are.

Her fingers tremble but she doesn't stop. She uses the lightest of touches, like she'd bruise you if she was any less careful. Your hands find purchase in her shirt; the gray cotton is soaked with your tears in seconds. Her lips wander across your hair.

Her grip tightens every time a fresh wave of sobs wracks your body. And little by little, she pulls you out of the current.

* * *

You tell her in broken bits and phrases. You tell her everything, your voice catching more and more as you speak yourself hoarse. Her palm traces a slow path up and down your back.

You tell her the vomiting started at age nine. You didn't know back then what caused it, but it gave your father so much sadistic pleasure every time it happened. Her hand stills for a moment. You tell her he started hitting you at age ten. People did their best to ignore the black-and-purple bruises when you went to school. When it got so bad, they went as far as pretending you didn't exist.

You don't even know why you're telling her this. Or why she would be interested. Nothing about this was enthralling, and even to your own ears the stories make no sense – they were disjointed, going in circles, sometimes without beginning or end. But you couldn't stop emptying yourself of the words.

To her credit, Beca wouldn't leave. Midway through telling her how you missed high school graduation, you break down again. You tell her how you got out. How you crept into your father's study one night and stole all of the money in his cash box. How you shivered and sobbed on the bus to Albany by dawn, with the few books and possessions you had. You had a scholarship waiting at Barden, a thousand miles away. You had a rare chance to live. Not even your father throwing you off the porch could stop you.

There's a tightness in your throat. You couldn't go on. You pull away and meet Beca's eyes, momentarily confused.

And it dawns on you: she knows everything now. Things Chloe knew, but never with this much detail. Things you have nightmares about. Things that make you vulnerable. You just handed Beca all of it. What if she couldn't handle any of it?

Your eyes are watering again. You shut them tight. In the darkness, a steady hand cradles your face. The cushions underneath you shift. And there's the briefest spell of silence, until it is broken by gentle lips nuzzling your forehead.

Beca doesn't linger there. She kisses you again and again, all over your face, light and deliberate, even restrained, perhaps by her own nervousness. She presses her lips to your right temple and pauses, inhaling the scent of your hair. The action causes a shudder through her body. With the two of you sitting so close, the tremor somehow courses through you too.

Beca rests her forehead against yours, so perfect and so close. You open your eyes.

* * *

She runs a tentative thumb across your lips. You know what needs to happen now and you surge forward to meet her, surprised at how natural the action felt.

* * *

You've imagined this moment so much in your head. You thought your pulse would race. You thought it would be bodies crashing together, finally succumbing to the furious attraction that hovered over you for so long. You expected tearing fabric and bruises. You expected two solid planets colliding violently at a rate of a hundred kilometers per second while the rest of the universe could only look on.

Her lips meet yours and it's strangely quiet. The kind so dense it presses on your skin.

Almost in slow motion, she yields and kisses you back. And it's completely silent save for the slick sounds of your mouths and breaths mingling. You're barely aware you're pulling her closer until you marvel at how delicate her shoulders feel in your hand. She takes her time and this is exactly what you need. If she turns a corner too fast, you might just come.

You inhale her and she goes straight to your head. She tugs at your lip and it aches deep within your chest. She's crushing you breathless one moment and filling you to the brim in the next. The world is so quiet because she had shut off the sound.

* * *

When you break apart – it had become necessary – all the distant sounds of the afternoon come rushing back with roaring ferocity. Clock ticking in the hallway. The hum of central heating. Cars passing in the distance.

She releases you in a daze. There's another bout of silence – one where she retreats, vacantly glancing over all the clutter on the coffee table, her expression growing more and more troubled by the second. She runs a few fingers through her hair.

"I shouldn't have," she finally murmurs. She wouldn't look at you.

* * *

That evening Beca informed Chloe about your father's call, as well as reported it to Chloe's grandfather. You weren't up for the task and so you gratefully agreed when she offered. Abraham Beale had promised to do everything he could to ensure your security. So far he had alerted Emory campus police and filed a misdemeanor charge against your father. If it succeeds – likely given Beca's recording and your father's pending criminal case – he could be looking at jail time and a hefty fine.

When Chloe checked on you, you told her everything else that had transpired between you and Beca. The redhead had been both sympathetic and excited. Too excited, even; she had been calling every day since then.

And Beca? She brought you a cup of tea after the whole ordeal, and hasn't spoken to you since.

* * *

On the dawn of your birthday trip, Chloe calls you.

"You called last night," you mutter sleepily. The bedside watch read four a.m.; you're supposed to be up in two hours.

 _"_ _I can't sleep,"_ she whines. _"And before you complain, I won't be able to call you for the next three days. Make the most of it."_

"Fine."

_"_ _Pshaw. You'll miss me."_

"I always do." You get up and reach for the trail map on your bedside table; you might as well review the areas for cottontail hunting, since this conversation would surely take long. "What are you thinking about?"

" _How it's all coming together. Us."_

You could only muster a yawn in response. She chuckles.

_"_ _I mean, Beca kissed you."_

"Yes, then she said she shouldn't have, so don't start squealing again."

_"_ _You described it as 'quiet, but it obliterated me'."_

You frown. "That was so cheesy."

 _"_ _No, it's not. It's romantic."_ She quickly shushes your little noise of disagreement. " _Okay, it's not very lawyerly. But you weren't doing well that afternoon."_

"You mean I was an 'emotional wreck'. But don't worry, I am fine now. Don't think the fact that you're calling every day escapes me."

 _"_ _You keep answering, babe,"_ Chloe retorts. _"You've been strangely calm about everything, you know?"_

"Now my calmness bothers you? I don't understand you people."

_"_ _No, it's good! I'm glad you weren't rattled by Major Posen's call. I'm sorry I couldn't be there."_

"Don't be. You've already done so much."

_"_ _I'm proud of you for telling Beca. Back then you couldn't talk about it without having a panic attack."_

"It felt so easy talking to her. She didn't even have to say anything …it's like she knew exactly what I needed at that time."

 _"_ _I always say you two understand each other so well. I'm sorry it didn't end as well as we hoped, though,"_ Chloe sighs. _"Are you excited for later?"_

"I am cautiously optimistic. I believe I've planned the whole trip as well as I could…I'm not sure Lilly understood we can't hunt people, though."

 _"_ _At any rate, please be careful. You sometimes lose track of time when hunting,"_ she reminds. _"Inform everyone in the house when you're going on the trail, take a ranger with you, all the safety stuff. I don't want to hear you Blair-Witched yourself or something."_

"I'll do that and more."

_"_ _Also, please talk to Beca before you turn twenty-five."_

You roll your eyes. "She's the one actively avoiding me." Chloe tuts and you roll your eyes. "Chloe, we're going to be at a secluded cabin in a five thousand six hundred-acre state park with no signal. I practically gave her a playground to hide in."

_"_ _You're sharing a room with her! I bet you'll have sex in the woods and everything will be fine."_

"Not going to happen, horndog. Lilly's rooming with us." Room assignments at the cabin are three people per room; Lilly ended up with you and Beca because you were the ones least intimidated by her arsenal of weapons. "Did Beca tell you anything?"

_"_ _She told me she would be busy this week, so I haven't really talked to her since she gave Grandpa her witness statement last Monday. I asked her if there's anything else she'd like to talk about…she mentioned mastering her new track, and then she was evasive."_

"Not that I'm surprised."

_"_ _At any rate, it's going to be an eventful birthday."_

"With all those shurikens Lilly's packing? It will be."

* * *

_Lodge_

It's early afternoon and you're silently congratulating yourself. Despite the slightly-cramped van ride with eight other Bellas, it was a pleasant five-hour drive to Smithgall State Park. You arrived with plenty of time to shop for supplies downtown before heading up the mountains.

The Lodge of Fallen Leaves is even more charming and rustic in real life. You couldn't have picked a better place to spend your birthday. The log cabin, your home for the next three days, is designed with comfort and practicality in mind. The mountain view from your bedroom alone is amazing.

You ate lunch picnic-style next to a gorgeous stream; the weather is cloudy, cool and all sorts of perfect. Everyone's abuzz on the numerous outdoor activities they could try out. The group split in two afterwards, with half going out to play disc golf and the other half relaxing in the cabin.

You stayed behind to pass the afternoon at the deck in your bedroom. It overlooked the entire park, and you figured it was the perfect spot to read Roger Deakin's _Wildwood._

"Hey."

You lower your book. Beca's standing over your lounge chair, blocking your tiny bit of sunlight.

"Hey," you answer. It comes off as icy, but this is the first time you're talking after four days; you have all the right to be sore.

"I thought you could use a beer." She holds up a six-pack of Guinness.

"Not really."

She senses your reserve. "Right. I'll, uh, leave you to your book, then."

You watch her retreating back with a mix of guilt and curiosity. She's almost at the door when you call out. "Beca."

"Yeah?"

"Come sit with me."

She relents and settles on the opposite lounge chair. You share a brief silence, only punctuated by a _hiss_ as Beca opens one of her beers.

You've given up and is about to go back to your book when she speaks. "Bree."

"Mmm?"

She swallows. "I'm sorry it's been so awkward lately."

You thumb through your book, not looking at her.

"There was a moment of weakness, and I…well, I kissed you."

You drop your book. " _I_ kissed you."

"No. You were the one in the vulnerable position. I feel like I…took advantage, somehow," she sighs. "It gets really rough sometimes, not being with Chloe. Not that it justifies anything," she adds quickly. "And you're very attractive. I don't think it's the first time I told you…"

You finally take pity. "Beca, I told Chloe about it."

Her despondency quickly turns to horror. " _What?!"_

"She understands what happened."

"What do you mean, she understands?" Her tone is aghast. "Bree, what the fuck? Why did you tell her?! Oh, god. I'm screwed. I didn't –"

"Will you please calm down?" You put a hand on her arm, but she pulls away. "Again, she understands what happened. _Listen to me_."

It works. She stops rambling.

"It was the first thing I told her," you tell her, figuring it wouldn't hurt to tell her at least part of the truth, if only to ease her conscience. "She wasn't even angry. Trust me, the fact that she hasn't confronted you about it means she doesn't hold it against you."

"I should've just told her myself." She massages her temple with her free hand. "Fuck. What would she think of me now?"

"Nothing has changed, okay? She understands I was in a bad place, and you acted out of...I don't know, pity."

She looks somewhat convinced; but she doesn't acknowledge your offhand statement either. "I don't want to lose her."

"You haven't."

"How are you so sure about that?"

"Because we've been talking over the past four days, and she would have told me if you have. Chloe's hardly the sneaky type, Beca. You know that."

She exhales. "I guess." But even then she's still distant, shrugging off your hand as she finishes the rest of her beer.

Near the end of her second beer – just when you decide her sullen silence is starting to get annoying – she speaks. "It can't happen again."

You match her steely gaze, but say nothing.

"You know what we did was wrong. It's great Chloe didn't take it hard, but I did. I betrayed her trust and it's all I can think of…I don't wanna feel like this again."

There was no way to ever justify the kiss unless you tell her everything – which you definitely couldn't (and _wouldn't_ ) do without Chloe. Even so, you badly want to put Beca out of her misery.

"Say something."

"Did you ever feel something else?"

Her eyes widen for a split second.

"No."

"You're lying." The words are out of your mouth so fast it made your head spin. You couldn't even explain how, but you just _know_.

* * *

You used to have these conversations with Beca that would hardly pass as reasonable. The kind where you just sit next to each other, engrossed in two completely different activities, while you make passing comments – often picking up from whatever the other said five minutes or even a day ago. It never really mattered how much time had passed. What mattered was how you'd always know what she meant.

And she was the same with you. You'd say very little and she'd take your words apart, fill out the blanks and spell out your thoughts, all in a matter of seconds. It felt surreal at first. You don't just finish your ex-arch-nemesis's sentences, let alone see through them in five words or less. Then you started living together, and it simply felt like a natural progression. Eventually, this odd sense of intuition became something you both took for granted.

This exchange did not have a shred of that at all.

* * *

Beca's jaw is set. "I'm not lying."

"I enjoyed it," you speak up bravely, trying to ignore how her words hurt. "I told Chloe as much. She asked me how it felt, and I said it was quiet but wonderful. Are you seriously not going to admit that?"

"Aubrey, _no_." Her expression is lost. "I just…it just felt horrible."

"You're really lying to me, of all people?" Now you're so furious you're struggling to keep your voice even. "Unbelievable. I thought better of you."

You stand up so fast you almost knock your chair over. You're crying before you could even make it out of the room, and the silence that preceded your exit didn't help at all.

* * *

You end up collapsing in the attic, which is surprisingly clean and empty save for a tall window. You pull out your phone before remembering you can't call Chloe. The realization brings on more tears.

"Don't cry."

The whisper shocks you so much you fling your phone across the room. Lilly is hanging upside-down above you.

"Fuck!" You clutch your chest and glare at her, convinced you're having a heart attack. "Lilly – you scared me!"

"Sorry. You did come to my room, though."

"What? But you're rooming with me and Beca…" The name makes you feel faint, and you close your eyes. "Oh, god. Please don't bust out a katana or something. I've had enough crazy for one day."

"This is my room now." Lilly flips down from the ceiling and lands on both feet, unhurt. "It's very conducive for rituals. And meowing," she adds with a smile, recognizing your look of alarm.

"Wouldn't it be uncomfortable? There's no furniture…you'd have to go downstairs for the bathroom…where are you going to hang your clothes?"

"You're very kind to worry, but those are material encumbrances to existence. I sleep upside-down like a bat." She sits on the floor next to you. "Don't cry anymore, Aubrey. Tears should be saved for fish soup."

"…okay?"

"You'll be alright. Beca will kiss you again, with tongue. I bet she has a sock at home with your name on it."

You gape at her.

"You know?"

"Oops, that was Donald. I encourage it because Stacie says it's healthy for our relationship. But Chloe did leave Beca a Magic Wand, and she likes it up her…"

"Lilly!" Much as you want to hear the rest, your other question is more important. "What do you know about me and Beca?"

She responds with a sinister smirk. "I know everything. I lurk."

"… _where?_ "

"It's best you don't know." Her smirk widens. "Beca is bumping her head on the deck right now. I'd laugh at her, but she might jump."

"Oh my god, how do you even know this? You're right here with me."

She pats your head. "I have to go. Fat Amy is in the stream trying to catch fish with her mouth."

"What?!" Still dizzy from all of Lilly's statements, and the numerous questions each of them brought forth, you try to stand up. "I'm coming with you."

"Nah, I'll take care of it." She pushes you down until you settle on the floor again. "Take as much time as you need."

You smile at her, feeling somewhat relieved.

"Thank you. I feel better already."

"No worries. There are shurikens under the floorboards, help yourself."

"Lilly?"

She leaps to the attic window, but she turns back to you.

"Can we keep this between us?"

"Sure," she grins. "Would you like a blood pact to ensure my loyalty?"

"That won't be necessary."

* * *

"Backstreet Boys is infinitely better than One Direction – what is wrong with you?"

"Backstreet Boys is primitive, and so is One Direction. Boy bands are all shit now. I'd rather place my money on Drake."

" _Drake?!_ He's the worst! Kendrick Lamar would be a respectable choice. But _Drake?_ "

"You're seriously dissing Champagne Papi? I'll cut you."

"Drake is a hack. Vince Staples is where it's at."

"Guys!" you finally intervene. Fat Amy, Cynthia Rose and Beca seemed ready to have a go at each other, and whatever it is they had in mind, it couldn't happen while you were all seated around a bonfire. "We haven't even started drinking yet! Amy, aren't you supposed to be grilling fish? CR – Backstreet Boys is over, okay? It was an awesome time in music history, but you have to move on."

Across the bonfire Beca stares at you, and you just know she's hoping to be acknowledged. You don't give her the satisfaction. "Well, Amy?"

"All done, Captain," the Aussie replies. Lilly had fished her out of the river earlier, thankfully unscathed despite a brief tumble with the rapids. "Lemme show you." You follow her to the patio, where Stacie and Ashley were preparing the rest of the dinner.

"Almost done!" Stacie reports happily, pointing to the sizeable pots sitting on the burner. "Ash, how's the veggies?"

"Grilled. Potatoes are also done," Ashley answers. "Let me know when you're ready so I can get the salsa."

"Wait 'til you try the rice pilaf," Stacie grins at you. Then she notices your expression. "You okay, gorgeous? You're flushed."

"Fine," you breathe out. "I'm fine."

* * *

After a delicious dinner the girls opted to hang out by the bonfire to grill s'mores. By eight pm Cynthia Rose began making cocktails by request, which added to the festive mood; pretty soon everyone was chatting animatedly.

The group was playing an impromptu Riff-Off – with Fat Amy supplying the categories – when Stacie nudges you.

"What's up with you and Beca?"

You glance across the bonfire. Beca's laughing while Denise threw s'mores up in the air for Fat Amy to catch. "Stace, the category is 'songs about sex'. Are you sure you don't want to join in?"

"You're normally wrapped around each other, but I haven't seen you two trade one word since we got here."

"Excuse me, _wrapped?"_

You're saved from further retorting when Fat Amy bellows, "Aubrey's gonna love this category! NINETIES GIRL GROUPS, ACA-BITCHES!"

* * *

A couple of hours later the chilly outdoors had become too much, so you all move the party to the living room and its welcoming fireplace. As soon as everyone is settled in, Fat Amy starts a massive game of charades.

You head to the kitchen to find Cynthia Rose mixing herself a cocktail. "Another margarita?" she asks. "You need to catch up. Seriously, I'm gonna have to cut off Amy and Beca soon."

"Thanks, but maybe later." You rummage through the supplies in the pantry until you find your box of tea. While waiting for the kettle to boil, you turn back to her. "How are you not cold, CR? I could hardly move my arms."

She laughs. "Alaska, baby. My dad was stationed at Greely for a year."

"Really? Where else did you live?"

"Oklahoma, Carolina, West Virginia, Georgia." She hands you a mug. "My siblings and I liked Atlanta enough, so we asked to be left behind. I take care of them now."

"That's very nice of you." When the water's done you fix yourself a cup of tea. "I know you're not cold, but would you like some?"

"Nah, it'll ruin my buzz. You should boil some more water, though. Someone else's bound to get cold."

"Good point."

Beca stumbles through the kitchen just when you placed the kettle back on the stove. "Hey CR –" she starts loudly, before spotting you. "Oh."

"Nope," Cynthia Rose tells her when she approaches the kitchen counter. "No more vodka martinis. You're cut off."

"But those were pretty good."

"They better fucking be. I made them."

Beca stares at you. "I'm cold," she mutters vacantly.

You want to roll your eyes at her pathetic attempt at conversation, but you hold back. "I'm boiling some water. There should be cocoa mix in the pantry."

"Yeah?" She pads closer, almost in your personal space; out of the corner of your eye Cynthia Rose watches both of you with interest. When she speaks again you smell the alcohol on her breath. "But I'm cold now."

"It's going to take a while."

She pulls back her sweater at the arm, showing you the goosebumps. "Bree," she whines.

"What do you want me to do?" you snap, starting to get annoyed. Granted, drunken whiny Beca is rare and kind of adorable. But you still haven't forgiven her for this afternoon, and now she's being a little shit, and you're having none of it.

She points at your mug. "What's that?"

"Tea."

"The Apricot Cat one?"

"Apricot _Ceylon,_ " you can't help but correct.

"Can I have some?"

"Beca, you don't drink tea."

"Try me."

You end up rolling your eyes anyway as you hand her the mug. You're already half-expecting her to spit it out, but she only blinks.

"Huh." She takes another sip. "I guess it's not so bad."

"You're really drunk off your ass."

"No, seriously. I don't even know why I hated it so much before." She starts heading out the kitchen with your mug, then turns back. "Hey, why aren't you two at the party? CR, you're missing out – Stacie is practically kissing everybody."

"You should go hit up Stacie," you tell Cynthia Rose once Beca had left. But when you look up from retrieving another mug, she's hardly moved. "What?"

"Girl, what's with you and Beca?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?!"

* * *

Everyone's deep into an intense game of spin the bottle by the time you and Cynthia Rose get back to the living room. Everyone except Beca, at least – the brunette was curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

"Look at Drunky over there," Stacie laughs when you settle next to her. "Tuned out the moment we decided to play spin. Like she's avoiding a truth question or something…"

"Should I take her up to your room, Captain?" Fat Amy asks, and while it was a perfectly innocuous question it makes you smile.

"No, she'll be fine. She's probably very tired. She did carry most of the groceries out of the van."

"Okay, newcomers. Two rules: you drink a shot of tequila when the bottle gets you, and you can only pick truth or dare twice in a row." Fat Amy spins the bottle; it lands on Jessica, who is seated to your left.

"They've already made me switch my bra with Ashley," she tells you in an undertone. "I pick dare so you girls can torture me for the last time!"

"I dare you to leave Jesse a dirty voice mail," Cynthia Rose exclaims.

"Haha, joke's on you. There's no signal!"

"Nuh-uh. I'm recording it on my phone and sending it to Jesse the moment we get out."

"Argh. I thought I wormed my way out of that one." Jessica shakes her head ruefully. "Only if it's okay with Aubrey." You nod with a grin.

Through the night the questions and dares become even rowdier, fueled by tequila shots and the girls' inventiveness. Ashley is forced to demonstrate a make-out session she had with her boyfriend on a pillow. Fat Amy slides down the stairs while riding a metal tray. In another instance, she reveals the wildest sexual position she's tried with Bumper (something called 'bunny baiting', which leaves you scratching your heads and pleading with her not to go into more details). Denise tells the cringe-worthy story of how she and Cynthia Rose briefly dated two years ago, which makes both of them laugh reminiscing about it. Cynthia Rose, in turn, stealthily draws whiskers on Beca with a Sharpie. Lilly slices an airborne lemon into four perfect wedges with a katana.

When Stacie performs a thirty-second striptease for a gleeful Cynthia Rose, the noisy hoots wake Beca, who sleepily props herself up. And she had the perfect timing too: just in time for the damned bottle to stop squarely in your direction.

"Truth or dare?" Stacie asks. By her mischievous leer, you're pretty sure of what she'd ask if you pick truth.

You match her smirk. "Dare."

"I dare you to make out with Beca."

You literally feel the color draining out of your face. _Well, fuck._

* * *

"Shit, I'd pay to see that," Cynthia Rose whistles.

"No."

"Just a kiss!" Fat Amy nags, tugging your arm towards Beca.

"Oh my god, seriously?" You glance at Beca, torn – you're expecting her to ask them to drop it, but you're hoping she wouldn't object either. Beca, unfortunately, doesn't quite seem to realize what's going on. She only blinks with detached bemusement.

"Come on! It's impossible you've never thought of making out _ever,_ " Stacie prompts. "You're both hot, you live in one roof, Beca's dating your best friend. It's, like, a fantasy just waiting to happen."

"No."

"No videos," Fat Amy promises. "Come on! Stacie's right, you can't _not_ have thought of making out at least once."

"I don't respond well to provocation," you snap. Damn Beca and her complete silence. Sometimes she makes you feel even more socially awkward than she is.

"We can call Chloe and ask for permission." Ashley pulls out her phone.

"Or we can just not do it, because you won't be able to call her anyway," you huff.

"Or we can just keep this between us," Lilly says so quietly it's a surprise you all hear her, and judging by the creepy smile on her face, you're pretty sure the first one to talk about this outside of the group would end up dead in the bushes.

"Damn you all," Beca, who hasn't said anything in the last few minutes while everyone cajoled you, suddenly slurs.

You all swivel to look at her as she gets up, and your heart sinks a little. Because no matter how hard you pretend this is all above you, you _do_ want to kiss Beca again. _Badly_. You'd take even a pathetic peck on the cheek borne out of some stupid game of truth or dare.

And yet the stupidly-obstinate hobbit would seriously walk out than kiss you.

"Aww, short-stack," Fat Amy whines. "Don't be like that!"

"Look, I'm sure you can see why this would be very awkward," you speak up, suddenly feeling the need to save whatever shred of dignity you could. _She did say she couldn't let it happen again._ Damn you and your excitable hopes. "I know it's just a game, but –"

But Beca – instead of staggering towards her bedroom or the front door – crouches in front of you, seizes you roughly by the lapels of your jacket, and interrupts you by pressing her lips against yours.

* * *

Kissing Chloe made you feel reckless, invincible, _powerful_. Chloe made you feel like all your nerves are aflame – it was, in the purest sense of the word, exhilarating. But Beca's lips, while equally mind blowing as Chloe's, makes you feel the complete opposite.

Silence.

Once again, it's complete and utter silence.

But now you realize what this strange stillness is: it's the taste of finally being understood. The ground can open under your feet, and you can peacefully plummet through the gap without a care, because you have her now. The tea, the first kiss, the way she holds you like nothing else matters: it all culminates in this moment. Beca would follow you anywhere in the world. And you'd blindly do the same for her.

Everything is right with her. Nothing can ruin this. Beca may not know it yet, but she's yours.

* * *

The other Bellas are suddenly quiet – although you're barely aware of the fact – and somewhere in the tiniest recesses of your mind you know it's because of the hushed intensity the two of you are showing. As if reading your thoughts, Beca abruptly pulls back. But now you don't mind so much: she's not going anywhere else. She's yours.

Beca stares at you for a moment, her hand cradling your cheek. The hand detaches. Not a moment later she's back on the couch, immediately falling asleep, leaving the rest of you eyeing each other.

Stacie finally clears her throat. "Let's get some more ice," she says, looking at you pointedly.

"Wh – _"_

" _Now."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You win. They are banging.
> 
> See you in a few months?


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh my god, what was that?" Stacie asks, the moment you two are out of earshot.

"You dared me to kiss her."

"Oh my god. That was so _hot_."

You roll your eyes and start pulling out ice trays from the fridge.

"You two looked like you were gonna throw down and start scissoring right then and there."

"Beca's drunk, as are all of you – what did you think would happen?"

"You had one drink. What's your excuse?" You jump a little when she claps a hand on your shoulder, but she looks more amused than anything. "Babe, you have a glowing-hot, bulging-red hard-on for Beca."

The way she phrases it bewilders you so much, you start laughing.

"It's insane when you say it out loud," Stacie muses. "But it's true, right? You like B! It's the tattoos. Or the tits? Whatever. I knew it. I saw you spank her."

"I have never –"

"…you don't own a Catwoman suit?"

"No!"

"Oh…right." She looks sheepish for a moment. "I…may have dreamt that. Anyway, you need one stat! You are perf in leather and little cat ears. I'll help you pick one when we get back."

"…no."

"Eh. I'll gift you one when we get back." Stacie waves her hand dismissively. "But you so want Beca! You two are always eye-sexing so hard, it's like you're trying to finger via mental telepathy."

"Gross."

"You can tell me. I'm not gonna judge, being the college slut and all."

You frown at the nonchalant way she says that. "I don't think you're a slut."

"Then you're the first one to think that." Stacie shrugs. "Whatever, I like sex. Do you like Beca?"

She knows. You look away, inhale deeply, and nod.

To your surprise, Stacie starts laughing and pumping her fist, oblivious to your shocked expression. "Fucking finally! Amy owes me fifty bucks. Sucker!"

"What are you talking about?"

"We have a bet going – she said you were going to get together with Chloe, and I bet Beca would get with you. Shh, poppet," she murmurs, trailing a finger before your lips. "We're just talking sex-wise, not relationship-wise; it's not in bad taste. But let's focus on my money." She falters at your hopefully-murderous glare. "And your thing. The lusty feelings for Beca. Yeah."

"I swear to god, Anastasia, I will slap you."

"Oh yeah, do it right up my…" you raise your right hand and Stacie cowers. "Okay, save it for the bedroom! God!"

"You can't tell anyone."

"Fifty bucks!"

"You can't tell anyone."

"…hmph."

"And if anyone asks what happened back there, you say it was all of us being drunk."

"Okay." She stares at you pensively, a look you've never seen on her before.

"What?"

"Sorry."

"…why?"

" _Why?_  She's with Chloe."

You take a deep breath, because now you have to tell her this too.

"You and Amy can keep your money. I want them both."

Stacie's jaw drops open. You shrug and fill a glass with water; she barely notices when you set it down in front of her.

"You want Beca and Chloe? Like, at the same time?"

You nod.

"Holy shit." Stacie collapses on a barstool. "You filthy minx."

"Highly unusual. I know."

"Not really." Her dazed expression slowly turns into a smirk. "Well…it's 2017. Furry conventions are a thing now. What's a threesome?"

"It's not  _just_  a threesome."

"Is this how Bella captains pass the baton or something? Anyway, the rule number one of participating in a threesome –"

"That is a crude and inadequate word for what we're trying to do here," you snap.

Stacie immediately sobers. "Okay. Fine. What are you trying to do here, exactly?"

"I'm trying to be with them. And not just once."

"…oh."

* * *

You wait, not daring to hope for her approval. You don't need it, but maybe – maybe – it's good to have someone else step in and say,  _this could really work._

"I'm not that drunk, right? Like, you actually said you want a relationship with Bhloe?"

You nod. She lapses into silence again, staring absently at the glass between her hands.

"Beca and Chloe…" she mutters. "That's fucking mythic."

"It is."

"How do you know you're not just getting in the way?"

Stacie's the last person you ever expected to have a serious conversation with. But here she is, the most concerned she's ever looked in the entire time you've known each other.

"I've thought about that for the longest time," you tell her. "I've thought about it so much I talked myself out of it a hundred times. But I am still here. I am still trying to make it happen." You drop a few cubes of ice on her glass. "They want me back, Stacie. Beca just doesn't know it yet."

Stacie remains fixated over the glass, although you know she's mulling over your words.

"She does light up when you're around," she finally says, in a surprisingly-gentle tone you've never heard from her before.

"That's reassuring."

"Is that why you're so chill now?"

"…I am?"

"Totally. You were super bitchy when we first met – you were making people cry at practice! Were you even getting laid back then?!"

"Stacie..."

"– okay, my point is, you mellowed out. You became more open to things, y'know? Like, we can tease you now. And you shake the hell out of that booty when we go to The Garage."

You blink at her. "Huh."

"If I told you the first time we met that you'd be wanting to date two chicks, you'd be vomiting."

"That's true."

"...so if that's your thing – like, it's what drags you out of that tight, tight clam that is your seriously-nice ass – I say, good for you! Carry on."

It's the crudest affirmation you've gotten so far since this whole enterprise, but you don't miss the sentiment. "Thank you."

"Anytime, gorgeous." She leans into you, closing her eyes, and the warmth you got from her words quickly changes to exasperation.

"Stacie, no!"

She opens her eyes and pulls back with a laugh. "What are we doing?"

"Getting ice!"

"Whoopsie-daisy. Thought it was Seven Minutes in Heaven."

* * *

Morning comes, damp and cold; an icy gust of wind blows the window to your bedroom open, waking you up.

Today is your birthday.

You get dressed in the dark, putting on brush pants and hunting boots that haven't seen use in years. Downstairs, Beca's still on the couch, fast asleep on a cozy tangle of blankets. There's a scrap of paper in the kitchen and you write a note:  _Went to hunting lodge. Will be back by lunch. - A_

You leave the note on a foot table next to Beca, making sure someone sees it by placing her phone on top. You take one last look at her before heading out and suppress a laugh: her cheeks still bear the squiggly whiskers Cynthia Rose drew last night.

How you managed to kiss her when she looked that ridiculous, you have no idea.

It certainly isn't stopping you from wanting to kiss her now.

It reminds you of something — a hotel room over five hundred miles away, the scent of lavender; red hair and warm hands and that feeling of knowing something momentous is about to happen.

You walk away, albeit reluctantly.  _Not yet_. But it would be just a matter of time.

* * *

The sun is rising just as you get down to the hunting lodge. You nod politely to the only other people around — a ranger, another hunting party of two, and the portly woman renting hunting equipment — before picking out the only gear lacking in your ensemble: a twenty-eight-gauge shotgun and a box of number-six shots.

The ranger checks your permit and hunter harvest log. "First time in the park," she comments, not really expecting a response. "Y'all are the first ones here for rabbit season. Where'd you plan to go?"

You glance at the map behind the counter. "North," you answer, pointing at a spot where the woods meet the stream and a small wheat field beyond.

"Yeah, good spot for bunnies. About an hour on foot." She returns the papers and eyes your gear. "You got bear spray?" You nod. "Flare gun?" You nod again. "No dogs?"

"No dogs."

"You must be sharp. Anyway. You know the rules, but we don't let nobody go until we say 'em: never remove your safety vest and hat, maximum cap is twelve rabbits a day, always wear gloves when prepping. State don't require you to report harvests but we'd appreciate a call if you encounter one with rabbit fever. You got it?"

"Yes."

"Then happy hunting."

* * *

The woods are bustling with life despite the last days of fall: the downwind swirls with bird calls, interspersing with the steady gurgle of the stream close by. The sounds are familiar – these, aside from music, were the only comfort you used to have, from the place you used to call home.

The key to hunting rabbits alone is walking into clear cuts, rounding back, and pausing for the next few seconds. You tread lightly through brambles, eyes trained for any hint of movement, the only one keeping your silence this fine morning.

An hour of walking rewards you a gray rabbit. It shoots from the blackberry bush to your left, leaping ahead of you as fast as its desperate legs could allow. Your shotgun is against your shoulder in one swift movement. The next moment is spent aiming two seconds away from where the rabbit would be. A breath, a pull of the trigger, a deafening  _bang_ – a recoil later and the creature hops forward three last strides, before falling onto its side in the clearing.

The rabbit kicks in your hands when you pick it up, the warmth of its body soaking your leather gloves. Your pulse is racing as you wrap your fingers around its neck. A hard tug to snap its spine and it slumps into a painless death, head lolling uselessly in your palm.

You have never felt this alive.

* * *

"…holy shit."

Back in the cabin, Cynthia Rose, Lilly and Stacie admire your work: five rabbits in a row on the outhouse table, ready for dressing.

"The gloves are in that bag. Wear it at all times when you prep the meat," you tell Cynthia Rose and Lilly. Cynthia Rose had hunted and prepped animals in Alaska before, from hares to elk; Lilly, meanwhile, made it to the rabbit prep team by assuring you she knew plenty about the anatomies of over two hundred species. "And don't forget to check for rabbit fever – if you see white spots in the liver, throw the whole carcass out immediately. Stace, I've tagged the ingredients for cacciatore in the pantry. Do you think this is enough meat for nine people?"

Stacie looks up, wide-eyed. "I think I love you."

"…no."

"I see the appeal," Lilly whispers.

"I said it first!" Stacie argues. "Swear to God, Aubrey, imagining you firing a gun –"

"– do  _not_  finish that sentence –"

"– makes me wet."

"Ugh. Now, the stew –"

"No. No more micro-managing, birthday girl." Stacie puts an arm around your waist. "If you really have to give orders, we're gonna have to do it somewhere more private, if you catch my drift…"

"Unfortunately, I always do."

"…so put on something nice, chill on the deck, and leave the rest of the work to us, hm?"

The rest of the Bellas are convened on the other side of the cabin, hanging out and preparing lunch. The delicious smell of grilling trout draws you closer. At the patio, Denise is guiding Jessica, Ashley and Beca in making dumplings; Amy is fanning flames on the grill.

"Captain!" Amy yells. Beca perks up at the word, locking eyes with you. "Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday, Aubrey!" the others call out, lining up to give you hugs or pecks on the cheek. Beca doesn't move from the table, but she gives you a small smile before Amy embraces you, lifting you a little off the ground.

"We missed you at brekky!" Amy chides.

"I went hunting."

"Good onya. Gators? Gators are frickin' ace."

"What's for your birthday dinner?" Denise asks.

"Rabbit cacciatore, but the rest of the menu is up to Stacie." You inspect the items on the table. "Do you girls need help?"

"All good, Captain, all a piece of piss." Amy starts pushing you into the cabin. "Go raid the esky! We gots champagne, beer, cobra whiskey if that's what your heart desires. It's your birthday!"

"Are you sure?" You look around the group and try to find something amiss, but there is none.

"Positive. Lunch in an hour, yeah?"

* * *

Back in your room, you stand before the dresser mirror and take off your hunting gear. This is you at twenty-five, you think, suddenly introspective as you search the person on the other side. You will never be this young again. Your life right now – your wants, needs, thoughts and dreams – a year from now and they might never be the same again.

"You should lock the door."

Beca's standing in the doorway, watching you.

"It's a shared room," you respond lightly, turning back to the dresser and peeling off your gloves. You don't realize her coming in until the definitive  _click_  of the lock makes you turn around.

"Happy birthday." Her voice is hushed, but it still echoes round the cavernous bedroom. "Any wishes?"

You've wished for the same thing since you were five, before you even knew the words for it; it's also the first time you will ever be saying it out loud. "Peace of mind."

You expect her to smirk, maybe even laugh, but her face remains impassive. "It is underrated." She doesn't move from the door, which strikes you as strange.

"…Beca, are you okay?"

She crosses the few strides separating you, her chiseled face betraying nothing. You look at her, slowly, carefully. Her tension is so palpable it feels like it is actually seeping through your skin.

"I lied."

And with that, she meets your eye. There's an odd sense of clarity – finality, even – reflected in hers.

It should be a victory, getting someone to admit they were wrong. Instead your mind simply refuses to process. There's only that hitch in your chest and if you don't do anything about it, you're going to cry.

You want to respond, say something, anything, to bring the constant spark of mischief back in her eyes, but the way she's just  _looking_  is making your mouth go dry. It's the exact way she looks at Chloe when the redhead does something she likes. Like dancing in the living room. Or petting stray cats in the park. It's history you share in common; the same things that make you smile.

"There's something in your hair," she breathes out. You're confused, because she hasn't looked anywhere else in the last five seconds. But then she reaches behind you, picking a leaf out of your hair like some somber magic trick, and the gesture is so…absurd, so unexpected considering the gravity of this whole situation, that it makes you laugh.

The sound awakens something in her. Before you can do anything else she tilts your chin towards her, capturing the last of your laughter in her lips.

* * *

It's nothing like the ones you've shared before – she kisses you viciously, taking you in like a predator parched for the longest time. You match her savagery, thoughtlessly roaming the shape of her body with your hands, as she pushes her tongue into your mouth. Her hands leave you for a moment and there's a distant sound of things clattering to the floor – then something hits the back of your thighs and you're falling.

Your ass hits the top of the dresser hard, Beca's hand cushioning your head from cracking the mirror. You are in the perfect position to wrap your legs around her and you do so, pulling her deeper until she's pinning you down.

She breaks away and  _fuck,_ her breath is suddenly on your neck as she pulls your hair back, exposing your throat. Her mouth traveling down to your collarbone is like water sizzling on the glowing-hot surface of your skin. Her other hand is already skimming the top of your shirt, fingers hovering over the swell of your breast. There's too many layers of clothing between you and you push her coat off her shoulders, catching the faintest scent of lavender in the process.

"Stop," you gasp, making a superhuman effort to create an inch of space between you both.  _Chloe. Chloe was just here somehow._ It makes no sense, and your mind is spinning, and you are hyper-aware that the slightest cant of your hips would bring the pressure of Beca's weight directly between your legs – "I – I can't think."

Beca only stares, eyes bright, breath fanning your face. Her jaw is set but she holds back.

You want her so bad. You glance at her half-parted lips, knowing where they've been – where they could be – and it sends a thrill up your spine, the thought of how this would be so new for her – for  _them_. How unfamiliar you would feel in their hands. How different you would taste.

Something in your expression must have changed, because Beca shifts above you. The next moment she's pushing your leg out to widen your stance, her hip digging into the seam of your jeans, right into  _that_ spot.

"…god." You're not sure which of you moans it – but that involuntary buck forward is undeniably yours, your whole body stretched taut by a live wire connecting your slit to your brain. She rocks forward deliberately and this time you rise up to meet her, her hip bone grinding perfectly into your clit. "God!" you cry out, crumbling completely in her hands. She presses her lips to your ear.

"You can't think?" Beca's grip on your hair as she grounds out the words tells you she isn't expecting any answers. "Good. Then you won't talk me out of it."

Her arm snakes around your waist, beckoning you to kiss her again.

* * *

On your next break for air she has you scrambling out of your clothes. You try to pull her back on top of you, already missing her weight in the sparse five minutes your bodies have known each other – but she only takes your hand, leading you to her bed.

Beca arranges you into a reclined position on top of the pillows, and you accept the choreography wordlessly, although you still stroke the bared parts of her skin when she settles between your thighs. She lets you take off her sweater and kicks off her own jeans. You marvel at the fact that she's not wearing a bra, the same way her breath catches when she unhooks the front clasp of yours, pressing her cheek on the valley between your breasts for one long moment, like she couldn't help herself.

Your self-control wanes when she kisses you – it's her breasts that get you, sliding deliciously against yours like warm silk – but she coaxes you into softer, deeper kisses, thumbs tracing the lines of your jaw. She meanders down your body with excruciating slowness. She skirts the important places, denying all your attempts to come with her hand or your own, until you give up and just hold her when you can, meet her lips when you can. It had always been her who defined the starts and stops of your relationship, anyway: she who stumbled through your door first, teased you first, kissed you first.

You're thoroughly bruised and trembling with despair by the time Beca makes her way inside you. You bounce your hips, chasing her fingers each time she dips in and out – it could be harder, it could be faster, it's perfect right now, shooting tiny sparks through you – like matches lit and dropped, again and again, the pile of tinder building up, on tenterhooks as you struggle to catch flame. God fucking  _dammit_ you need more. You tell her:  _more._ It comes out as a plea, the word dragged out of your tightly-wound body in a feverish exhalation. When her tongue joins her fingers it is both a blessing and a punishment: you are close, you are losing it, an erratically-timed thrust and you're nearly there again; it wouldn't work, she makes it work, but what if you can't, you just need this to fucking last, and you are so close, so desperately close.

One more thrust and you are set ablaze, bucking uncontrollably against Beca as you come.

* * *

She collapses next to you, looking just as spent as you felt, and you want to kiss her. But she only collects you in her arms until the full length of your body is curled over hers. You remain like that for a while, sweaty and in disarray, she murmuring your name in your hair.

When Beca finally kisses you, her teeth languidly catching your lower lip, she makes it a point to hold your hand. The gesture is so achingly human. Years from now this is what you will remember: that you were cared for and fucked to completion by Beca Mitchell, but not once did it feel like just sex; as much as you were desired, you were _loved_.

* * *

You try to take your time. And for a while, you do: you find out precisely what Beca likes, little things that make her hum and melt and gasp, and you save it for future use. But when you kneel before her, tasting seawater between her legs, the knowledge is all for naught – you forget who you are, even who you are with; there is only gratitude and hunger, rushing you to push her further and further into the tide. Soon she goes over the edge, her voice and her body rising all around you. You anchor her hips with what you can – your hands, your weight, your mouth – but she is too far gone, the waves sweeping her body, crashing her repeatedly into you.

There are tears in her eyes when you come up. You feel responsible, mostly for the pleasure you have taken in undoing her, so you brush them away with sticky fingers and ask her what's wrong.

"It's been a while," she admits. It gets you thinking about her last time – probably with Chloe, and while holding Beca is amazing there's still that longing for another pair of legs tangled in yours, a freckled body pressed in your back, warm laughter in your ear.

"I wish she was here."

You expect this to trouble Beca, but her eyes remain clear. It seems to free her, even. "Huh," she starts, and when she looks at you there's a dazed smile on her face, like she just realized something: "That would be perfect."

* * *

Sometime into kissing Beca there's a knock on the door. She doesn't stop lazily sucking on your lip – neither could you; you know there are worlds outside affected and dependent on your actions, but to part with her even for a second would throw yours askew.

"Are you both in there?" The voice is muffled and unmistakably Stacie's.

"Yes," Beca calls out, obviously annoyed at the disruption. She resumes kissing you, hands flexing possessively in your hair.

"…I'll just come back by dinner."

After that, nothing else interrupts your whole afternoon.


End file.
